


Bite-size Pieces

by Missjlh



Series: Eyes on the Sky [3]
Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Bondage, Dirty Talk, F/M, Major Character Injury, Masturbation, Not In Chronological Order, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PTSD, Pining, Sexual Tension, description of medical procedures, one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 60,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25537870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missjlh/pseuds/Missjlh
Summary: Random one shots from De Sardet and Vasco’s lives that don’t quite fit within the main stories in the series.
Relationships: De Sardet/Vasco (GreedFall)
Series: Eyes on the Sky [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785805
Comments: 20
Kudos: 37





	1. Meeting the Captain

An heirloom, Mother called it. She put the amulet on, feeling the subtle hum of magic within. Did Mother know it was magical? Doubtful. It’s quite unlike anything she’s ever seen in Sérène, but it must have been something Father picked up from some far away land. He had been an explorer after all. 

She’s numb, walking out of the palace and away from Mother for the last time. While her mother still lives for now, she is effectively an orphan. 

That’s not something she can think about now. Kurt is waiting outside and they need to figure out where Constantin is. 

“You good, Green Blood?” 

She nods, not trusting her voice. Crying in public cannot happen. 

“Where do you think your cousin got to?”

“We should try the port first. Perhaps he decided to head there early.”

Or stumbled there at dawn, still drunk, more likely. 

“No clue where you get your optimism from. I’m half-expecting we’ll have to pull him from some pile of rubbish somewhere nursing a hangover and smelling like a barn.” 

Admittedly, Kurt’s more likely to be right. In the excitement of leaving Sérène and his father he almost certainly over-indulged. 

“Why didn’t you go, Green Blood? You’re good at keeping him out of trouble.” 

“I wanted to spend all the time I could with Mother,” her voice cracks. 

“Right. Of course you did. Sorry for asking.” 

She couldn’t sleep last night. Tossing and turning, her mind racing as she thought of how she’d be saying goodbye to Mother forever in hours, she ended up knocking on her bedroom door. 

“May I come to bed?” She asked when Mother invited her in. 

It’s childish but she needed this tiny shred of comfort one last time. 

“Remember that you are brave, Elizabet. Even when you don’t feel you are. Your anxiety doesn’t make you weak; it makes you strong, because you fight and claw your way to success while battling your own mind. I’ll always be proud of you.”

She repeated her Mother’s words over and over as she drifted off, memorizing them so they can be a comfort in the years to come without her. 

No sign of Constantin at the port. Mr. De Courcillon has no clue where he could be. 

“We could try the Naut captain? Perhaps he spoke with him?” Elizabet suggests. 

Mr. De Courcillon points her in the direction of the captain. Expecting an older person - in their 40s or 50s perhaps, she’s shocked to see a man of about her age. He’s giving orders with a firmness and confidence that makes her feel as if she is shirking some sort of responsibility. 

“He’s gorgeous,” she thinks, before wondering why her subconscious decided it was appropriate to look over the man in front of her. 

His handshake is firm. “If all is in order we will soon be embarking on your boat,” she says. 

The look he gives her tells her that was not the right thing to say. “Ship. Not a boat,” he says, making no effort to hide his annoyance. 

“Apologies.” She feels properly chastised by the captain. But also just a little impressed at his boldness; few people would speak that way to a member of the nobility. 

Captain Vasco has not seen Constantin and tells her about a missing crew member and she promises to look into it. “We’re out looking for Constantin anyway, may as well find this Jonas as well,” she says. 

Two sailors - Lauro and Flavia give her some leads to follow. She’s about to leave and then a thought comes to mind. “What is Captain Vasco like?” 

The two of them speak highly of him; a brilliant leader and navigator. But a serious man - not prone to laughter, and seems unhappy, apparently. 

Her cheeks are flushed as they leave the port. “Why are you blushing, Green Blood?” 

“I’m not. Just the heat,” she responds. 

“I’ll pretend I believe you.” 

Suppose she can’t be surprised Kurt assumes she fancies the captain, given that she chose a Naut to sleep with at the Coin Tavern several years ago during her quest to get out of her arranged marriage. 

Does she have a type? Maybe. All she knows is she enjoys the tattoos, broad shoulders and lithe builds common amongst the men and women of the Nauts. 

She feels a tiny sliver of disappointment that he was wearing a coat, hiding any hint of how he might be built. And then she chides herself - even thinking of this is quite inappropriate!

And now she’s blushing even harder and Kurt smirks at her. 

That Bridge Alliance textbook she bought last year containing the instructions for crafting explosive flasks proves useful when the two of them need to break into a building to free Constantin. Means she’s able to free him without spilling blood. And she finds Jonas and frees him, returning to the port where the captain expresses his gratitude. Her stomach does a little flip as he speaks to her far more politely than he had earlier. He’s even willing to indulge her curiosity about the Nauts and answers a few questions. 

A beast crashes through the hull of another ship. As big as a building, it nearly crushes Constantin before she pushes him out of the way. “Kurt, Captain! Protect my cousin!” She shouts desperately as she prepares a spell in her hand. 

This is by far the most dangerous thing she’s ever fought. But Kurt trained her well. It’s a long fight and she has to use two magic potions to sustain herself, so when the beast finally falls, she’s jittery and out of breath. Kurt and Constantin run to her side immediately. 

The captain remains calm following his initial burst of anger when he realized the creature was breaking out of its restraints. Keeping a cool head under pressure is probably an important trait for a ship captain but it impresses her all the same. 

Kurt retreats to his quarters while her and Constantin remain on deck. While she’s pleased to be leaving Sérène and her cruel uncle and his venomous court, she’s sad to be departing from her mother. “I wish she’d have let me stay with her until...” 

Constantin wraps an arm around her. “You’re respecting her wishes. Chin up, Cousin, I don’t expect you’ll ever step foot in this awful place again!” 

She watches as the city grows smaller as they sail away, listening to Captain Vasco give orders to his crew. Turning, she sees him walking along the deck, head held high and with a confidence she wishes she had. 

“Like what you see, Elizabet?” Constantin’s voice rings out and she jumps. 

“He’s intriguing. A captain who is my age? I can hardly imagine being in charge of so many people. The crew members I spoke to respect him. Say he’s brilliant.” She leaves out that they also told her he seems unhappy. That feels a little too private to share with her cousin. 

“Wondering if he’s brilliant at anything else?” Constantin winks at her. 

She glares at him. “No! That is completely inappropriate. He’s just...different is all. Can’t imagine I’ll ever learn any more about him.” 

That fact disappoints her more than it should. 

“Could just ask him?” 

“No. Not his job to entertain us nobles, Constantin. Better we just stay out of his way.” 

“If you say so, Elizabet.”


	2. Love, not Infatuation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vasco’s feelings for Elizabet are definitely not simple infatuation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

The Legate - Lady De Sardet is prettier than the average noble. More interesting than the average one too. Not actually a noble at all, he suspects; at least not by birth, judging from the mark on her face. A mark he’s seen occasionally among the islanders of Tír Fradí. 

Still, she’s a noble and he’s not going to fall at her feet like her lot expects. Especially since she couldn’t even be bothered to learn that the ship taking her to the island is not a damned boat. And asks on her bodyguard’s behalf if he’d be willing to turn smuggler for her! 

Bloody nobles. 

He’s ready to write her off entirely as being the same as all the others despite the mark on her face when Jonas returns, telling him “Lady De Sardet saved me from the folks that I was born to” and he wonders if perhaps she is different. What noble goes to the trouble she did for a cabin boy? 

She smiles at him, a shy smile when he tells her that her actions bring her honour and he regrets being so dismissive of her request. But it’s too late to reverse his previous position on it; she’s found her wayward cousin, and the ship is fully loaded and ready to go. 

A giant beast rips apart one of the other ships in port and instead of insisting on his help, she asks him and her guard to protect her cousin, opting to fight the thing herself. He wonders if he should step in. She carries a pistol and a sword but can she really fight? 

“She going to need help?” He says to her bodyguard.

“No. She has this,” is all he says in response. 

Turns out she can. She’s a magic user; a proficient one from the look of things. Few Nauts come from Thélème and they’ve never had a native join, so he’s only seen magic a few times in his life. And only once in combat; a fool attempting to rob him outside a tavern in Thélème. He killed the man, who evidently wasn’t as good with magic as he’d thought when making the initial robbery attempt. Not like the Legate, who casts a variety of powerful spells. 

Only - she’s pushing herself. Casting so many spells in quick succession is wearing her out and she’s having to pause to take a potion or leap out of the way of the beast’s incoming attacks. Why isn’t she alternating between the pistol at her hip and her magic? Finally she downs the beast, with a shot from her pistol.

Briefly he wonders what it would be like to fight at her side. 

***

Flavia is milling about the way she does when she wants to talk to him - standing around by the helm, trying her best to look busy. Were it not bound to be an awkward conversation she’d just walk up to him and start chatting. 

He sighs. “What do you want, Flavia?” 

She bounces over to him, clearly tickled by whatever it is she’s going to say to him. “The noblewoman on board is very fond of you. Caught her eyeing you when you were up in the air half-naked.” 

Yeah, right. The niece of the prince of the Congregation of Merchants was looking him over. He sighs. “If you’re going to try to bullshit me, at least pick something plausible.” 

“No, I’m serious, Cap! Apparently she has a thing for Nauts, assuming her bodyguard can be believed.” 

“Just because she has a weakness for Nauts doesn’t mean she’s interested in me. Probably saw a pretty cloud in the sky or something.”

Flavia smirks at him. “Oh, stop. She’s not the first noblewoman to find you attractive. Could definitely get her into bed if you asked. You could use a lay.”

“And I’m sure you’ll recall what happened the last time I made the mistake of sleeping with a noblewoman.” 

Flavia still teases him occasionally over that debacle and it was more than five years ago now. 

“Her father isn’t on the voyage, unlike that last one. Nobody around to threaten to string you up.” 

He just stares at her. “She has a bodyguard strong enough to toss me overboard. And a cousin with the political power to make me disappear.” He shakes his head, wondering why they’re still discussing this. “Besides, this is all theoretical because she was not looking at me,” he says firmly. 

“You’ll see soon enough, Cap. She was not discreet. Definitely mentally undressing you. Don’t blame her. You’re a looker,” she winks at him. 

He rolls his eyes. “We slept together once and it was weird. Like sleeping with a sister. It’s not happening again.” 

Flavia laughs at him, loudly enough to draw the attention of Lauro who is standing nearby. Great; the whole crew will know about Flavia’s claims within the hour. “Not trying to get in your pants. Can’t say you’re the most regrettable lay I’ve had but certainly the strangest. Skilled, though. Good technique.”

“Commenting on my performance as one would comment on work being done on deck is not the compliment you think it is.” 

“Well, you got the job done is my point. Rather decently, despite the awkwardness. Not sure why we thought it was a good idea.”

Vasco just shakes his head. Other bed partners over the years have made him well aware of his skill between the sheets and he doesn’t need to fish for compliments from Flavia. “We were young dumbasses who decided to rent a room in the Coin Tavern?” 

“And desperate,” Flavia adds. 

“I’m regretting that night more and more as you continue to talk about it.”

“Anyways, Cap,” she says loudly, changing the subject. “You should sleep with her. She’s pretty and you’re pretty. When was the last time you spent the night with someone, anyway?”

“None of your business,” he says, desperately wishing this conversation would end. He loves Flavia; she’s smart and capable and he truly does think of her as a sister, but she is far too invested in whether he’s gone to bed with anyone recently. 

“That means it’s been too long if you’re grumpy about it!” She says, singsonging before walking away. 

Damn her. It has been awhile; over a year at the very least. Being a captain can be lonely; it’s not as if he can find a casual fuck amongst the other crew members anymore. 

***

The Legate - no, Elizabet’s lips are striking. An odd thing to focus on; not even the first beautiful thing he noticed about her (that’d be her blue eyes) but her plump, bee-stung lips are gorgeous. They look soft and infinitely kissable, especially compared to his own chapped lips. Everything about him is rough, callused, and scarred; he’s a Naut and it comes with the life. Nothing soft on him. 

Briefly he imagines her lips around his hard cock before he forces the thought away. He’s rather not spend the day working with a hard-on because it’s not as if he will have the time to sneak off to his quarters and take himself in hand to deal with the matter. 

They’ve been meeting for two months now and he’s taught her everything he can think of about the constellations. At least, everything he can without getting himself tossed in prison for revealing Naut secrets. 

She likes him. He can tell, but she hasn’t invited him to bed. As soon as they made their arrangement to trade knowledge he’d decided he would warm her bed if she asked. Make her feel good in a way no one before him has. He’d shown the last noble lover he’d taken a thing or two before her father caught them. Probably ruined the poor woman for anyone else, he thinks ruefully. 

But she hasn’t invited him to bed and it’s a little confusing. Still, he enjoys her company and he hopes they can continue to meet, even if they no longer have an excuse to do so. 

He catches a glimpse of her, sitting next to her cousin and it almost breaks his heart. She looks so terribly sad and he wonders what could possibly be troubling her. And then, a few hours later he watches as she gets her arse kicked while sparring with her bodyguard and cousin. 

Never thought he’d see someone so terrible with a sword while being technically competent at the same time. She knows how to wield it and how to move. But something isn’t fitting right when she puts it all together and she should really stick to her magic in a fight. And a pistol. 

Elizabet looks on the verge of a panic attack now. Something is bothering her. While she may prefer not to speak with him about it, at the very least he can offer her a distraction in the form of a shared flask and his company tonight, if she wishes to have it. 

Vanilla. Elizabet smells like vanilla. Something he discovers when he hugs her as she weeps in grief over her mother. It’s not a smell he associates with people. In fact, it’s not something he’s smelled or tasted frequently at all. Just in cookies or cakes a few times in his life when he’s felt like stopping in at a bakery on shore leave. But that’s just her body. Her hair is something else entirely. While he has no idea what the smell is, he loves it. 

Hours later he bolts up out of bed, head aching from bad whiskey and realizes he was smelling her while she wept in his arms and shame and awkwardness settle in his belly. Over the years he’s been attracted to plenty of people - both women and men, but none have made him lose his mind the way Elizabet does. 

***

Lines are being crossed during their shooting lessons. At first, he’s angry with himself for being unable to resist grinding against her cute little arse, but her soft moans as she grinds back on him while his fingers inch towards her centre wash all of the anger and guilt away. 

He wonders if she ever touches herself as she thinks of him. Despite their flirting and their touching, she still hasn’t invited him into her bed so she must be easing the ache by her own hand, right? He certainly is. 

Still, he remembers that her bodyguard is strong enough to toss him overboard following one lesson in which they were particularly shameless in their flirtations. Her trousers were especially tight and her moans were louder than usual and took on a more breathless quality as he held her against his cock, fingers itching to slip past her waistband. 

Her aim was rather off through the lesson but his wouldn’t have been any better. Turns out it’s hard to focus with a cock against your ass and your smalls drenched with arousal. 

Thinking of her cunt, dripping with need makes his cock twitch and he’s making his way over to his quarters for a quick wank when her bodyguard blocks his path. 

“Pardon me,” he says, pretending as though the man is accidentally in the way instead of very purposefully being in the way. He doesn’t move. 

“You’re a good shot,” the man - Kurt, he thinks his name is, says. 

“Thank you,” he mutters. 

“Be careful.” 

Best to play dumb. “Always am though I appreciate the concern. Now if you’ll excuse me...” 

Kurt steps out of the way, letting him pass. “Careful in some ways, perhaps. Reckless in others.” 

He doesn’t respond and when he returns to his quarters he finds that their conversation has dealt with his erection in a far less pleasing manner than he’d planned. 

***

“They’re cracked, Cap. Two of ‘em,” Gustavo, his quartermaster tells him. He’s not sure how a quartermaster ended up doubling as their medic but he’s the best they have. 

“So I wrap them and hate my life for the next two months?” 

“And you don’t lift anything. This isn’t your first time; don’t be an idiot and you’ll be fine,” Gustavo says as he bandages his torso. 

It’s fine. Hurts like hell but for a few minutes he thinks he can hide it from Elizabet. Then he realizes he was a fool to think for a second she wouldn’t notice. 

And she’s worried. It’s frustrating; he didn’t want her to know in the first place because there’s nothing she can do and she’s noble. Almost certainly unfamiliar with these sorts of injuries despite her skills in alchemy and he’d rather she not act as if he’s on his death bed. Even if it’s well-meaning. 

Turns out he was wrong. “I have healing magic!” She near shouts as he’s turning to leave after refusing the healing potion she had offered him. There’s no denying who she is now. He’s never heard of someone from the continent having healing magic the way the islanders do. But she seems unaware of this fact. 

Maybe a couple cracked ribs won’t be so bad, he thinks, as he continues on with his day, waiting in anticipation for her to visit his quarters and heal him. 

Magic is unfamiliar to him. He felt it in the air that one time he fought a magic user and when she fought the creature at the port, but he’s never actually had a spell cast on him. It’s kind of nice. It tingles and feels warm in contrast to her cold hands. Of course, when she actually starts healing him, any pleasantness from the magic is overshadowed by the pain of his body being put back together. But he’s used to pain. Unfortunate side effect of the life he lives. So he just closes his eyes and tries to focus on the way her hands feel on his body. Then, as he drifts off into a drug-aided sleep, his mind foggy and her face blurry she touches him as a lover would, with a tenderness he’s never before experienced and he finds himself pleased by this turn of events. 

It is the next day when he realizes he’s in trouble. That this isn’t just carnal attraction or simple fondness. She’s anxious; close to having a panic attack and tells him her mother used to cuddle with her and tell her a story to help calm her. So he does and as he’s holding her close and telling her about the time he sailed through a hurricane he realizes that he does not ever want to let her go and his heart sinks as he tries to figure out how to stretch their last month together into forever. 

***

So many things about Elizabet caught his attention. Not just her beauty. She’s humble and endearingly kind, with a gentleness he never expected a member of the nobility to have. And smart, with a passion for learning and interests he’d never expected from a person of her station.

Despite coming from a fancy and dangerous world, she sees the best in people and has never once treated a member of the crew as anything less than an equal. 

How did she become so gentle in a world that runs on cruelty? It’s a mystery he wants to find the answer to, but one he fears he won’t have time to discover. 

***

“Do you shave every day?” Elizabet is sitting up in bed watching as he shaves, seated at his desk with a mirror and a bowl of water in front of him. This isn’t the first time she’s watched him shave; it’s something she seems oddly fascinated by. 

“Generally.” 

“Thought so. Your face is very smooth. Ever grown a beard?” 

“No. I’d prefer the crew respect my decision-making.” 

She laughs at that. “It can’t be that bad, Love!” 

It’s such a small thing but it warms him inside whenever she calls him that. Not since his teenage years has a...bed partner bothered to come up with something sweet to call him. Always just been his name. Or “Sailor” if whomever he was bedding could not be bothered to learn his name. Which has happened once or twice. He’s never been anyone’s ‘Love’ before. It’s nice. 

“It is, I assure you.” 

“So, is it just hard to see with all your tattoos? Your hair is quite fair.”

“Part of it. Bigger issue is that it’s patchy. Not a good look at all.” 

He wipes his straight razor off and rinses his face before joining her back in bed. “Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re...um...” Her face goes red with embarrassment and he could not possibly find her more charming than he does in this moment. 

“I’m...?” He can’t help but tease her a little. 

“Well,” she clears her throat. “You aren’t especially hairy. Compared to some men, I mean. Like, take Kurt for instance...not that I’ve slept with Kurt! He’s like a brother to me and he is my master of arms and occasionally during hot weather...” she stammers, sounding mortified. 

He laughs warmly and wraps an arm around her shoulder. “No need to be so nervous Elizabet!” 

“It’s...generally unbecoming to discuss such things where I come from. Both men and women are to remain properly dressed in one another’s company.” 

“Does this mean I should put a shirt on?” He’s obviously not going to do that, but he’ll tease her a bit more. 

“No!” She says quickly and forcefully; the intensity of her response making his cock throb at the realization that she wants him just as much as he wants her. She curls up against him, resting her head on his chest. “I’m not hurting you am I?” 

He’s still recovering, though thanks to her he’ll be back to normal in a few weeks instead of a few months. 

“You’re fine.” Her fingers start to trace the tattoos on his torso. Since the day she healed him she’s touched him frequently. The same touches; ones from a lover and the sort of intimacy that was previously unfamiliar to him.

“Ever been involved with a bearded man?” He pauses before adding, “you don’t need to answer if you’d rather not.” She’s never spoken of past lovers with him, but he assumes she has taken at least one. Her nervousness has always seemed a product of her anxiety and not inexperience. 

“Not a full beard. They weren’t popular in Sérène. I did spend the night with the son of a merchant who had a goatee once. Nothing memorable about that night.” 

“Beards are fairly popular amongst Nauts, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Not always a lot of time to shave so many choose not to. Only man I’ve slept with who didn’t have a beard was back when we were still teenagers.”

He looks at her and she’s smiling and looking... relieved? “I’m attracted to both men and women too,” she says. “Not something many know about. Just Constantin and Kurt. And...the two women I’ve slept with. And now you I suppose.” 

“Is having a same sex partner discouraged within the nobility?” He asks quietly. 

She hesitates. “For the oldest child...the expectation is that they will marry and have at least one child. After that nobody really cares who they sleep with so long as the ‘happy married couple’ keep up appearances. Pretend to be able to tolerate one another. Younger children tend to have more freedom right away. They can marry someone of the same gender and nobody bats an eye. Sometimes they’re even arranged if their parents are aware of their preferences.” 

“So being a younger child is easier?”

“In some ways. Most of the estate goes to the oldest so subsequent children either have to marry well, or get trained in some form of trade.” 

It’s strange hearing about the life he would have had were he not given to the Nauts. His heart aches thinking about what could have been. But he doesn’t want to talk about that. Not tonight. 

“You’ve never mentioned siblings. Do you have any?” 

“No. I’m an only child. But Constantin and I grew up together in the palace and Mother often watched over him. So I think of him more as a brother than a cousin.” 

His heartache only grows at the realization that she will be expected to marry some other rich noble. It’s not surprising at all; there was never a chance she’d be able to choose him. But he knows that some rich husband won’t make her happy... though, he also knows that life at sea is unlikely to make her happy. 

He takes her hand in his and tries to force these thoughts away; to enjoy the last few weeks in each other’s arms before life separates them for good. 

***

“You love her,” Flavia says early one morning as they’re wandering the ship looking everything over. Not accusingly, but matter-of-fact, as if it is obvious. 

“I do not,” he scoffs, knowing there’s not a chance she’ll buy his bullshit. They know each other too well for that. 

“Saw her sneaking out of your quarters at dawn this morning. That’s every night this week. Either she’s fucking your cock raw or you love her.” 

He sighs heavily; unsurprised by her response. “Must you be so crude?” They haven’t had sex. It’s no longer about the fact that she’s a passenger but that if they do have sex it will mean too much. It won’t just be a fuck. They’ll be making love and he’s not sure he’d be able to let her go if they did. 

Making love is never something he’s done. The closest would be his first lover as a teenager; Leo. There’d been a fondness between the two of them but they knew it wouldn’t last. When a transfer separated them, he mourned the loss but moved on easily enough. Ended up in bed with another young sailor on his new ship - a young woman his age. Perhaps he loved Leo. But more likely it was a simple infatuation. 

He loves Elizabet De Sardet and it terrifies him. 

“You’re deflecting, Cap. You love her. None of us have seen you this happy as long as we’ve known you. You smile more. And laugh.” 

Despite the impending loss of her and despite the fact that they’ve never made love or talked about their feelings he realizes he’s never been as happy as he is now. That the bitterness he’s felt for so many years is overshadowed in his heart by utter love and devotion. But it can’t last and when he loses her, the bitterness will blacken his heart further and he’ll be more unhappy than ever. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters and she grabs his arm and turns him so he’s looking her in the eye. 

“Could go with her. Abandon the sea and live by her side.” 

“And what would I do? Could hardly be useful to a person of her standing. Would only be an embarrassment. People would talk; noble dallying with a Naut. It doesn’t happen, Flavia. I know that. Whatever this is ends when we make it to port.” 

“Have you told her how you feel, Vasco?” Shit. She’s using his name and not his rank which she only does when they’re speaking as family and not as crew. 

“No point. Just make it hurt worse when I need to sail away.” 

And what if she doesn’t love him in return? What if she’s just passing the time with him as they sail towards her new life? 

“I think you should tell her. See if she feels the same way and work something out,” she gives him a quick hug and walks away before he has a chance to think of a response. 

Elizabet asks him why the skin over his heart remains free of ink when the rest of his chest and torso are covered in tattoos. He tells her it’s because the story hasn’t found its end yet. Because he can’t tell her he’s saved that spot for the person he loves. The one who holds the other end of his red thread. Elizabet De Sardet. 

It’s common for Nauts to tattoo their lover’s name on their bodies. That’s never been his style. No, he wants whatever he gets to be a representation of her. Not just a name. He won’t do it right away...some part of him hopes they’ll find some way to reunite and if they do he wants her to choose what he puts on his body to tell their story.

Sailing through a hurricane was easier than saying goodbye to her. But he does it and watches her walk away. She doesn’t look back. He understands. If she did, she wouldn’t be able to look away from him again. And that is when he knows she loves him as he loves her. That she won’t ever forget him. 

He wipes his eyes, leaves the ship and heads to meet Admiral Cabral. 

“Good journey?” She asks when he greets her. 

“Generally smooth. Sailed through a storm but no serious injuries.” 

“You’ve received glowing reviews from Governor d’Orsay. He said him and his cousin, Lady De Sardet were most pleased with you and the crew.”

Hearing her name sends a lump to his throat that he hastily swallows down. “That is good to hear,” he says, somewhat hoarsely. 

“I’m taking you off active duty. You’re the best of your generation, Vasco. But you’re a liability.”

“What? Why?” He’s so taken aback he forgets any semblance of politeness but the Admiral ignores his tone and carries on. 

“Go to Lady De Sardet. She’ll need help. You’ll be a representative of the Nauts and assist her with whatever she needs.” 

“You didn’t answer my question. Why am I a liability? Are there not any number of guards or assistants in port who can do this?” Right now all he can think of is that he’s just lost his livelihood; not that with her orders at least he would be by Elizabet’s side. 

She softens. “You don’t know who you are. You’re bitter. That makes even the best of us a risk. You were given to us but for as long as I’ve known you - and I’ve known you since you were a wee lad, you’ve wanted to build your own path. Go to her and see if that’s the path you’d like to follow.” 

Her words are subtle but he can read between the lines and tell that she knows how he feels for her. But that’s not the only reason she’s laying him off. He has been bitter, it’s true. And vocal about it. Only his talent has kept him from getting into any real trouble over it when he’s decided to mouth off to a superior. 

It’s still a shock to be losing his identity. He’s a Naut. It’s all he knows. And the admiral has just told him she doesn’t want him.

“On your orders, Admiral,” he says coldly, giving her a glare before turning around and walking away. He returns to the Sea Horse and gathers his things. Not much; his whole life has always fit in a bag, if he doesn’t count his books, most of which he leaves for his replacement. The only book he takes is the poetry book containing the poem he’s read over and over these last few months. The one that makes him think of her. 

Luckily she’s still at the port when he leaves the Sea Horse so he doesn’t have to figure out how to navigate the city and find out where she’s living. He sighs, bracing himself and hoping he doesn’t come across as the bitter asshole he feels like he is in this moment. 

A Naut without a ship. That’s what he is now.


	3. A Life Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabet learns her life is about to change drastically.

Elizabet is concentrating on the medical textbook in front of her when the footman knocks on the door, startling her. She hastily closes the book as the man approaches her, not wanting him to catch a glimpse of the illustrations. 

Some are sensitive to diagrams of human anatomy. Mother requested that she keep her ‘hobby’ discreet. Certainly by the orders of Uncle Adrien; Mother has always been good about encouraging her interests. 

“His Highness and your mother have requested an audience with you. I am to escort you.” 

Strange. And oddly formal. As she walks with the footman she feels a deep sense of dread wash over her. What if Adrien wants to announce another match for her? Mother insisted that he not seek another arranged marriage for her five years ago but when has Uncle Adrien ever kept his word? 

Mother looks unwell sitting beside Adrien in the Throne Room. The black marks of the malichor have spread and she looks so frail. A far cry from the gregarious and active woman she was before becoming ill two years ago. 

She curtsies. “Uncle Adrien. Mother. What occasion gives me the pleasure of your company?” 

“As you are aware, the Congregation has a colony on the island of Tír Fradí. I have decided it is time for its leadership to change and it is time for your cousin,” Adrien says ‘cousin’ with disgust and it doesn’t escape her that he did not refer to his son by name, “to grow up. I’ve appointed him governor.” 

“An inspired choice, Uncle.” Elizabet is careful to keep her expression neutral but she’s thrilled Constantin has an opportunity to get away from his cruel parents. 

“He will need someone to handle diplomatic matters. You’re well-trained and... skilled at reining in the boy. Consequently you will be joining him as Legate of the Congregation of Merchants.” 

But what about Mother? She’s so sick and needs her to do what little she can with her healing and medical knowledge. This is not the place to register her objections, however; she will do that later, in private. 

Mother notices her hesitation. “I am proud of you, Elizabet and honoured that my brother has seen fit to give you such an esteemed position. We have another task for you, in addition to your normal diplomatic duties.”

“What would that be, Mother?” 

“The malichor has plagued the continent and it’s only gotten worse in the last decade. Tír Fradí remains untouched by the affliction. People are dying, Elizabet, and while it’s too late for me, the continent needs a cure. And so you will make connections with the Natives of the island and find a cure. Save our people, Elizabet.” 

“I will find the cure and save the people of the continent.”

Such an important task to be given. Her anxiety builds as she thinks about having the fate of the entire continent resting on her shoulders. What if she fails? 

“You and Constantin will depart in three months. Passage has already been booked for the two of you, your Master of Arms and Mr. De Courcillon,” Adrien says. “That is all.” He dismisses her with a wave of his hand and she curtsies once more before leaving, taking care to hide that her legs have been made unsteady by anxiety. 

That evening she knocks on Mother’s bedroom door. She’s already in bed despite the early hour. “How are you, Mother?” 

Mother gives her a weak smile. “Tired.” 

“I brought you a healing potion,” she says, handing it to her. One she made herself, with a few modifications to the recipe to take Mother’s illness into account. She drinks it and grimaces. “Medicine is always so unpleasant isn’t it?” 

“I know. I’m sorry, Mother. It should help you a little.” 

“Now that dear Uncle Adrien,” her tone is sarcastic, though if you did not know her well you wouldn’t have been able to notice, “is not around, how do you feel about the news you received today?” 

She’s always been able to be honest with Mother. “I don’t want to leave you. Not until...” her bottom lip quivers and she struggles to hold back her tears. 

Mother pats the bed in invitation and she sits against the headboard and takes her hand. “I want you to go. Live your own life.” 

“Can’t we delay the voyage? Or I could take a later one?”

“Your task is too important to delay. And I don’t want you to sit around waiting for me to die. You have so much potential and you will do amazing things when you get to the island.” 

“I don’t want to lose you.” 

“My sweet girl, losing me is inevitable. It is a cruel world we live in, and you are a rare shining light in it. Don’t let the world take away everything that makes you who you are: your kindness, intelligence and gentle spirit. Look for the good when you can.” 

***

Her and Constantin are walking through the public areas of the port. There’s no reason why they ventured this way; perhaps their inevitable discussion of their new life inspired it. 

“We are to have an adventure, Cousin! A new land and new opportunities!” He’s practically vibrating with excitement. 

“We are.” She is... less excited. 

He looks her way. “Where’s your enthusiasm? I’d have thought you’d be almost as excited as I am to be away from my father.” 

“I don’t want to leave Mother while she’s so sick.” 

Constantin’s face softens. “Of course. I’m sorry for not considering that.” 

A group of Nauts walk by - both men and women; the men shirtless and the women wearing breast bands. Briefly her eyes wander and Constantin chuckles at her. “A good looking bunch, I suppose, if you don’t mind tattoos and piercings.” 

“I like the tattoos and piercings,” she says, mostly to herself. 

“I cannot wait to see our new home! The people, the wildlife, New Sérène!” 

“It will be exciting, Constantin.” And she means it. The opportunity to live elsewhere, to make a difference and escape her uncle is something she is looking forward to, despite having to say goodbye to Mother. 

***

This evening her stitches are even and neat on the pig carcass she’s working on. It’s discouraging at times, not being able to learn the scientific and magical methods of healing from a teacher. Will she ever be able to do more than heal bruises and minor cuts? 

“You enjoy it,” her mother says as she makes her way into the room she’s turned into a laboratory. 

“Very much. I’d like to learn more if I can.” Mother sits on a chair and Elizabet cleans her hands before sitting beside her. 

“My understanding is that Tír Fradí is very... wild. You may have a chance to practice more than you’d like.”

“Maybe I’ll be able to find a teacher? Was Father interested in medicine?” 

Her mother looks uncomfortable. “You... come by your interest honestly,” she says. But she says it so hesitantly, as if she’s ashamed. Was her father’s interest in medicine seen as an embarrassment? It’s an odd interaction and she’s relieved when Mother changes the subject. 

“I’ve ordered your dowry to be packed as cargo. In case you decide to marry.” 

“You said I’d likely never marry,” she says as she looks down at her hands. 

“It is possible you will find someone amongst the nobility that have decided to call Tír Fradí home. Those who opt to undertake such a journey are more adventurous than most. Perhaps you will find someone who matches your spirit.” 

“You’ll never know them.” A tear rolls down her cheek and Mother puts a hand on her cheek. 

“So long as they treat you with kindness know that I would have loved them and approved of the match.” 

Deep down she knows there’s unlikely to be anyone within the nobility who will ever interest her. It’s not something she can ever admit, given her station and responsibilities but this life is so often trying. Balls and parties where the richest in Sérène stare at her mark as if she’s about to infect them all exacerbate her anxiety. Life is frequently so lonely, despite the constant crowds of people in and around the palace. 

A life free of marriage and love is something she’s accepted. At least she would have her freedom as an unmarried person. Even physical intimacy is something she’s given up on. It’s just never been satisfying and she can deal with matters herself so what is the point? 

She can never be herself in high society; nobody outside the family and Kurt know her greatest passion in life at the orders of Uncle Adrien, who feels that his niece practicing medicine is something to be ashamed of. It’s absurd - how can saving lives ever be shameful? Why does he look down upon it? 

Really, the reason is a simple one: there’s nothing glamorous about it. Healing is messy, and frequently something one fails to do, despite best efforts. An occupation for the working class and not the niece of a prince. 

Three weeks until she leaves. Three weeks until she says goodbye to Mother forever.


	4. Laying Mum to Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A funeral, years belated.

It occurs to her one day that Mum never received a proper burial. That when she died in prison her body would have been treated with the same indignity she experienced during the last few years of her life. 

She can never bring what remains of Mum back to Tír Fradí but she can honour her in a small way. 

So, armed with a censer and mortuary potions; the same sort she helped Siora create when she buried her own mother, she leaves Tír Fradí on the Sea Horse, bound for Sérène. 

It’s only her third voyage as a Naut. She’s new to the life still, but enjoys it. But some days she thinks how scared Mum must have been. To be on a strange ship crossing a massive sea, prisoner to a bunch of barbarians who cannot speak her language. 

“Would the Nauts have been kind to her?” She asks Vasco one night. 

“I... doubt they’d have been able to get close enough. The Congregation folks would have kept a close watch. In their best interest to keep things obfuscated. The captain and his officers were likely the only ones to know the whole story.” He looks uncomfortable. “It shames me that our people participated in such a thing.” 

“I know that’s not something you’d ever allow, Love. Those who... knew what Adrien was up to and allowed it to happen have to live with themselves.” 

Perhaps this is one small way in which growing up in nobility has helped her. For her entire life, she’s seen the very worst of people. Assassination attempts, murder, theft, greed and cruelty are things she’s used to. The way Mum was treated fills her with a deep anger but most of that is levied at Adrien d’Orsay. 

***

“Would you come with me?” She says to Vasco as they grow close to Sérène. 

“I would be honoured to go with you,” he says in response. 

She’s never been to the prison. Never had need to while she lived in Sérène. But she knows where it is. It’s a massive fortress right in the middle of the city, heavily guarded and it only takes a brief glimpse of it to know that nothing good has ever happened behind those walls. 

While there’s no doubt many within its walls are guilty of whatever crime sent them there, just as many are there for the crime of being poor and in debt. Or political prisoners; people deemed a threat by the prince. Or people kidnapped and tossed in a hole once they were deemed to be worthless. Like Mum. 

Thousands of lives smothered simply because the prince asked for it. As the years since the discovery of her origins go by, she becomes angrier at Adrien. And in many ways, it’s changed how she remembers Mother. She still loves and misses Mother... but it disappoints her that she played a part in this deception. That she was never honest with her about who she is. And she’ll never be able to sit down and talk to her about it.

“Allow me to do the talking should we be questioned about our presence near the prison,” Vasco says as she wraps a scarf around her face to hide her mark. 

She has no intention of Adrien learning where she’s escaped to so she nods and gathers what they’ll need to send Mum off as best as she is able. 

There’s not a chance they’ll get behind the high walls or past the heavily guarded entrance. The best she can do is to perform the ceremony against the wall of the prison and pay her respects. It’s not much but it’s something. 

Walking around the prison walls, they find a secluded spot with enough tall trees to give them a little cover. With luck they won’t be spotted right away. “This is the best we’ll find, Alys,” Vasco says quietly. 

And so she pours the mortuary potions on the wall and lights the herbs she collected in the censer. For four months she’s tried to decide what to say during the hurried ceremony. The first thing she decided was that she would speak in Yecht Fradí; her mum’s tongue. 

Her and Vasco are almost fluent now, thanks to all the time they’ve spent with _Modryb_ Slàn and the villagers of Vignamri. Though she’s told that both of them speak with a strong accent. An accent she wonders if they’ll ever be able to shake entirely. 

“ _Mum, it’s Alys_ ,” she starts, speaking haltingly as Vasco holds her hand. “ _I’m sorry for what that monster did to you. The cruelties you endured. And I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I - wish we could have known each other._ ” A tear rolls down her cheek and she hastily wipes it away. “ _I miss you. Every day, since I learned about you I’ve missed you. Wherever you are, I hope you’ve found peace. And I hope to find you when my minundhanem and I leave this world. This isn’t the send-off you deserve, but... you’re remembered. And loved._ ” 

“May I say a few words?” She turns her head and looks at Vasco, who looks hesitant. As if unsure it would be welcomed. 

“It would mean a great deal if you would, Vasco. You’re family.” 

He clears his throat. “ _I... want to thank you. For bringing Alys into the world. Without her my life would be far emptier. I wish circumstances were different and I’m sorry. But I love your daughter and will for as long as I draw breath._ ” 

As another tear rolls down her cheek she squeezes his hand as they watch the smoke rise up from the censer. They stand in silence until the herbs burn up and the fire snuffs itself. 

“We should leave before we’re spotted,” she says and, with one last look at the wall, they turn and leave. 

A guard, armed with a sword, stops them as they’re making their way away from the prison. “What are a couple Nauts doin’ ‘ere?” He demands. 

Vasco responds calmly, using the story they agreed upon. “Merely paying respects to an old friend. We are leaving and will not cause you any trouble.” 

“Why’s her face covered? Could have planted somethin’!” The guard points his sword at her. 

Vasco, still remaining calm, but with a hand ready to draw his own sword if necessary, speaks, “An injury sustained at sea. Quite an unpleasant one to look at; she is doing you a kindness by hiding it away.”

The guard considers for a moment before waving his hand dismissively. “Get out of ‘ere. We see you again and we’ll toss you both into a cell.”

“Thank you, Sir. You will not see us again.” Taking her hand, Vasco moves swiftly down the street and away from the prison. 

Once safe, the two of them slow down. “Really? An unpleasant looking injury?” 

Vasco looks sheepish. “Had to think on my feet. Best I could come up with. Rest assured I was lying through my teeth and I am in the company of the most beautiful woman this world has seen.” 

“It got us out of there anyway. I’m sorry. That was probably too risky.” 

“No, Tempest. We had to do this. To put your mum to rest properly. That was hardly what one could call a danger. Guard was just a formality, really; I’d have had him dead on the ground in seconds if it came to a fight.” 

There’s so much she would have loved to tell her mum. It’s cruel that she’ll never know her, and the anger she feels towards Adrien is especially powerful today. “If only someone had killed him the day he stole me from Mum and the Nauts,” she says bitterly. 

Vasco sighs. “We’re nothing if not practical. Killing Adrien would have caused a conflict, which would have brought upon greater losses. Instead leadership hit him where it really hurt: his pocket book. And gained fifteen new recruits as a result.” 

“I hadn’t realized I cost fifteen Congregation families their children and irreparably changed their lives.” Her and Vasco are happy with the life they have together but he could have been noble if not for her. 

“Not you, Alys. This was all Adrien’s fault.” 

“Sometimes I think about meeting her. What it would have been like to have my mum. What we’d have talked about. The things we’d all have done as a family.” 

“Me too,” Vasco confesses. 

She’s confused - is he referring to his birth family? “Your birth family?” 

He shakes his head. “No. Your mum. I’d have liked to have been her son by marriage.” 

“You are, already, even if we’ll never know her in this world.” 

There’s a strange peace that descends on her that night as she’s drifting off to sleep in Vasco’s arms. Perhaps just the satisfaction of doing a small thing to honour Mum the way she deserves, or maybe it was something else. Gods and the beyond were never things she believed in until she met en on mil Frichtimen but now, she’s not sure what she believes, aside from the remarkable magic of the island she comes from. 

All she knows is that the next morning, Vasco comments to her that he’d just had the most relaxing night of sleep he’d experienced in months. 

For once she chooses not to be a skeptic.


	5. An Awkward Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabet meets with a noble looking for funds for his business.

One expectation of her job as governor is that she is available to the public. Which means her days are regularly filled with meetings where nobles attempt to secure loans or other favours from her. 

The odd venture is a good investment, but most of these meetings are a waste of time. Just an exercise in being accessible. While she tries to ask her advisors to be more discerning with who gets a meeting, their standards are far different from hers. 

Anyone with a noble last name gets a meeting by virtue of their station. She’d rather these meetings be determined on the basis of the importance and value of the request as opposed to someone’s name. 

But that’ll never happen. So she sits quietly and tolerates these meetings before complaining privately to Vasco. 

For once, it looks as if she might be able to leave her office early and have a nice afternoon with Vasco when there’s a knock on the door. 

“Yes?” She calls out. 

“Your Excellency, Mr. Bastien d’Arcy has requested a meeting. Given that your schedule is currently open I’ve advised him that he can meet with you immediately.” At least Lady Morange sounds unhappy with the situation. She is the one who quietly told her going into business with Bastien would be a poor idea. 

“I only have a few minutes but send him in,” she says in response. 

This should be quick. Hopefully. 

Bastien walks into her office, head held high and looking smug, as if meeting with her is a great triumph and not something he is apparently entitled to by virtue of his last name. 

“Please sit, Mr. d’Arcy,” she says, gesturing at the chair across from her. “What brings you here?” She asks when he sits. 

“I’m seeking an investment. My business partner and I have built a successful business but we are in need of more funds to expand.” 

Any success they’ve had has been despite and not because of him, she thinks. 

“And where is your business plan? Your proposal? How will the Congregation benefit from investing in your business?” 

Bastien scoffs. “My family is well-respected; why would I need to waste time on such banal formalities?” 

“Because I expect it from everyone who comes to me seeking funds, regardless of their name.” 

“Your uncle wouldn’t. He would not be pleased to hear you withholding funds from successful business owners.” 

Because she’s sure he has regular contact with the bloody prince. This is ridiculous. 

“I’m not my uncle. I’ve explained my requirements to even consider your request. You may return when you’ve completed the necessary work required to apply properly.” 

“I’ve heard rumours you’ve invested in Native-owned businesses. Not the businesses of Congregation citizens.” 

She looks at him sharply, not that he notices her irritation. “I invest Congregation funds as I see appropriate. Their proposals were good and it has proven to be a good investment. Additionally, as guests on their island, it is essential we work closely with our Native allies. Now, since you have not completed the necessary paperwork, I see no point in continuing this discussion,” she stands, generally a signal one should leave but something Bastien apparently never learned. Or if he did, he doesn’t care to adhere to basic social customs. 

“My family is wealthy, Your Excellency. And you are unmarried.”

She is married, in fact. To his brother. Not that she says this. 

When she remains silent, Bastien continues rather awkwardly. “Rumours on the continent say that nobody wanted to marry you. Because of...” he gestures at her face. “Anyway, I am willing to marry you. Should we come to the appropriate financial arrangement that is.” 

What a proposal! “Nobody wants to marry you but I’ll be good enough to tolerate it if you pay me!” 

She just looks at him, incredulously. “So, what do you think, Lady De Sardet? Would you like to become Lady d’Arcy?” The way he says this, as if he’s being an utter gentleman to even consider sinking low enough to marry her makes her feel sick to her stomach. 

“I will escort you out of the palace. There is something I wish to show you.” 

“That is not an answer to my question!”

“It will be.” 

The two of them walk down the stairs and into the entrance hall. She leads him over to the large portrait of her and Vasco. Admittedly she hates the portrait; it lacks personality and they both look so grim in it, but it makes her point well enough. She gestures at it and Bastien looks confused. “Why was your portrait done with a Naut?”

Really not a bright man, this one. And apparently he couldn’t be bothered to remember that the Naut in question helped save his life. 

It’s not common knowledge that her and Vasco are married. They never had a society wedding and Vasco rarely appears at formal events with her. And it’s not as if people pay attention to the paintings in the entrance hall much of the time. Most know she had been involved with a Naut but she suspects most of the nobility assume that it was a dalliance and nothing more. 

“Because Vasco is my husband.” She lifts her hand, showing him her wedding band. 

Bastien actually has the gall to look sympathetic. “Nobody proper wanted you so you had to settle for a Naut?” 

“I love my husband. He’s a good man and the smartest person I’ve ever known. And I will not abide anyone insulting him, so Mr. d’Arcy, I believe it is best you leave.” She nods towards a nearby guard who walks over to ensure Bastien does not get lost on his way out. 

Without another word, she turns around and returns upstairs, making a quick stop in Lady Morange’s office. “I’m leaving for my private quarters. If Mr. d’Arcy bothers to return with an actual business plan, please do not arrange another meeting. I will review it privately and send my rejection by letter.” 

“Of course, Your Excellency.” 

She’s shaking her head as she walks into her and Vasco’s quarters. Vasco’s sitting on the couch reading, hair damp, shirt unbuttoned and she thinks that she could not have possibly been more lucky to have the love of the man in front of her. 

“Like what you see, Tempest?” Vasco says with a smirk, not looking up from his book. 

“More than ever before.” He looks up at her and smiles, patting the cushion beside him. She sits down and Vasco puts the book down before wrapping an arm around her shoulder. 

“Trying day?” He kisses her neck. 

“Received a marriage proposal.” 

“Oh? Anyone good? Am I to be sent on my way?” He speaks lightly, clearly amused by this. 

Vasco’s never been prone to jealousy. She’s well aware that many people would be upset to learn their spouse was propositioned but if he gets annoyed, it’s only on her behalf. It’s something she loves so much about him. 

Still, his brother proposed to her and she wouldn’t begrudge him if that bothers him more than usual. 

“It was Bastien.” 

Vasco just starts laughing. “So, apparently we share the same taste?” He says when he’s able to speak once more. 

She winces. “Well, no. He wanted to make a financial arrangement. Talked about how nobody else wanted to marry me.” 

If she’s honest with herself, Bastien’s words hurt. It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before; all her life she’s been looked at oddly and had to endure the whispers of the court. Many people in Sérène thought she was infected with the malichor and those who didn’t made it clear that they found her to be unappealing. 

Vasco’s the first person outside of Mother and Constantin to call her beautiful that she actually believed to be genuine. The first time was when she was tending to him after he broke his ribs on the voyage to New Sérène. But even then, she couldn’t respond to the compliment genuinely; she was so used to writing off any comments about her appearance. He must have realized this about her; he simply responded with “It’s not flattery when it’s true.” And she believed him. At first the significance of his words didn’t hit her but as the weeks went on, they grew to mean so much. Every time he’s told her that she is beautiful warms her. 

Vasco no longer looks amused by her story. He looks furious. “He said that to you?” 

She shrugs. “Not the first time I’ve been told nobody wants me. It’s fine. This isn’t the world I belong in anyway.” 

He pulls her more tightly against him and kisses her repeatedly. “He’s an idiot. They’re all idiots not to see that they stand in the presence of the most beautiful woman there is. I’m tempted to pay him a visit and tell him precisely how much of an idiot he is.” 

“Oh Love, you don’t need to do that.” Vasco wants nothing to do with Bastien and Bastien never figured out that Vasco is his brother. Any interactions between the two of them could reveal the truth to Bastien and she’s aware the man is liable to try to leech off her husband. Not that he’d be successful but it would be annoying for Vasco. 

“I would. Without hesitation.” 

“I know and it’s very sweet. He was not especially impressed to discover we were married.” 

“Is any of the nobility?” 

“Fair point. It bothered me to hear him be so rude about you.” 

“I’m a Naut. None of them think highly of us. We’re a necessary evil. I don’t really give a shit what some spoiled brat thinks of me. I know who my family is.” 

Bastien does submit a business plan - all of it utter nonsense and the success contingent upon breaking several laws. But she’s not inclined to waste any more of her time on the man, instead quietly forwarding a copy of his submission to the government officials in charge of handling business permits, and sending him a rejection letter. It takes a few tries but she’s satisfied with the letter in the end. 

_Dear Mr. d’Arcy,_

_No._

_Kind regards,_

_Governor Elizabet De Sardet_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While you can tell his business partner that Vasco’s Bastien’s brother, I think she’d be so fed up with Bastien’s nonsense that she never decides to pass along that information. And I like the idea that he’s too conceited to actually figure it out on his own.


	6. Love Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter, long delayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mildly NSFW at the beginning.

It’s been a week since landing in Sérène and she still hates the palace. Not quite as much as Vasco, who has taken to scowling at the furniture as if it has the capacity to recognize his disapproval whenever the two of them are alone. 

Vasco is dozing next to her - it’s late and they’ve just finished making love. There’s something delightfully rebellious about sex with her husband in her childhood bedroom. 

“I want to have you in every room of this absurd house,” he whispered in her ear as he thrust into her. The thought puts a smile to her face. They... can probably cross a number of the rooms off their list before leaving. 

Six months. Her and Vasco head back to New Sérène in six months and she can resign as Governor and start her life over again. 

A knock on the door interrupts her thoughts. Grabbing a robe, she puts it on before carefully opening the door. It’s Gerrard and he carries a plate with a... letter? 

“May we speak, Lady De Sardet?” 

Slipping outside the room, she nods. 

“Her Highness, in her final days, struggled with certain... feelings. Feelings that she could not share with you. There were things she wished to tell you, so she wrote you this letter. Not wanting to risk it seen by... outside eyes, she requested I hold onto it. Had you not returned to Sérène for a visit, I was to sail to New Sérène next year and deliver it to you personally. She’d left the funds for the journey in a trust.” 

Her hands tremble as she takes the letter from Gerrard. “Did you... know?” 

“Your mother had not been in a delicate condition prior to your appearance. I knew you had been adopted but nothing else. It was, of course, never discussed.” 

“Did the entire household know?” Her voice is stern; the thought that so many knew but didn’t tell her is deeply upsetting. 

“Not for certain. There were rumours. I discouraged such talk. To protect you and your mother.” 

She needs to leave this conversation; she can’t maintain control for too much longer. “Thank you for the care you gave Mother. And for ensuring I received her letter. Have a good night, Gerrard.”

“Good night, Lady De Sardet.” 

Once back in their bedroom she closes the door gently, but the noise still wakes up Vasco. “What’s wrong?” He says sleepily. 

“It’s fine, Love.” Her voice cracks, revealing that she most certainly isn’t fine. 

“Tempest, come here. Tell me what happened,” he’s fully awake now and speaks so gently that it breaks the last of her control and she lets out a sob. She puts the letter on the table beside the bed and sits down. He sits up and settles behind her, pulling her against his chest. 

“Mother wrote me a letter before she died,” she says when she is able to speak once more.

“Oh. Would you like to read it?”

“Not tonight,” she says softly. “Apparently it concerns my origins.”

“It can wait until you’re ready.” 

“It’s the last love I’ll ever get from her.” 

Vasco kisses her shoulder. “I’ve never had a parent, but from what you’ve told me, she was a caring and loving woman who was open with her affection. Remember those moments and you’ll always have her love.” 

She wipes her eyes and sniffles. “I’m not sure what I did to deserve you.” 

“And I’m not sure what I did to deserve the love of a woman as kind and gentle as you. Would you like to try to get some sleep? I won’t let you go.” 

A sudden yawn tells her she should at least try to sleep. As promised, Vasco drapes his arm over her waist and holds her, but her mind won’t slow down. It’s a long while before sleep takes her. 

The letter remains unopened the next day. And the day after that. It’s a week before she decides to read it, and only does so because it strikes her that Mother may have included instructions that would require access to the palace. 

Mother never would have suspected she would cut ties with the family and take up her birthright as a Naut. Once she leaves the palace, her and Vasco will never return. 

“Will you sit with me while I read it?” Vasco doesn’t say anything; he simply takes her hand and squeezes it. 

She opens the letter. The handwriting is shaky; during her final days Mother’s hands shook badly. A side effect of the potions given to dull the pain she was in. 

_My dearest Elizabet,_

_By now, it is likely you know the truth. You are not my daughter by blood, but the daughter of a woman of Tír Fradí._

_I am sorry. I never wanted it to remain a secret as long as it was. Your Uncle Adrien insisted it be kept from you as a condition of the adoption. Your father and I had tried to have children of our own for many years, but I was unable to carry a child to term._

_When Adrien brought you home, it was a blessing. I am shamed to write that I did not consider your true mother when he put you in my arms. That my gain was her loss. It was several years before I drew up the courage to ask Adrien what became of your mother. He revealed she was imprisoned as a result of her failure to cure the malichor._

_Please know that I asked for her release. And when he refused, I asked to bring you to her. You were still young; you would not have remembered it. He refused once more. I was a coward; I feared he would take you from me so I did not press the matter further._

_You were the child I always wanted, Elizabet. You’re kind, gentle and intelligent and I hope life on Tír Fradí has been good to you. That you’ve been able to study healing the way you’ve dreamed of doing for so long. It did not matter to me that we were not related by blood; you were and always will be my daughter and I love you so much. I do not have long now but when this curse takes me, my last thoughts will be of you._

_Forgive me for the part I played in deceiving you. Not telling you is the greatest regret of my life._

_Love always,_

_Mother_

__

She’s hardly able to read the last lines of the letter through her tears. Once finished she places it on the side table and weeps. Vasco says nothing; he holds her and she clings to him as grief washes over her. 

“Mother didn’t want to keep it a secret. At least not as long as it was,” she whispers. 

“I’m not surprised. Everything you’ve told me tells me she was a good woman.” 

It’s a comfort, these last words from Mother. The revelation about her origins complicated how she thinks of Mother, and those feelings remain complicated, but it’s a reminder that despite the secrets and her regrettable choices, she was still a wonderful mother. 

She keeps the letter tucked safely in a jewelry box. Several years later, no longer Elizabet De Sardet but a proper Naut, she comes across it again while searching for a pair of earrings. As it happens, she’s in Sérène. It feels like a sign. 

Taking the letter, she walks over to the tattoo shop and knocks on the door. She’s fond of the artist in Sérène, a woman named Bella. The door opens. 

“I was wondering if I could get a tattoo? Along my collarbone.” 

“What would you like?” 

She hands Bella the letter, pointing at the words ‘Love always’. “Would you be able to match the handwriting?” 

“I can do that,” she says and Alys sits in the chair, unbuttoning her shirt. 

“Is the letter from your husband?” Bella asks as she works. 

“No. My adoptive mother. She died of the malichor just after I left for Tír Fradí. This letter is one she wrote to me just before she died. I received it several years after her death.” 

“You were close, then?”

“Very. I miss her.” 

Mother taught her how to navigate the world of nobility. How to negotiate properly and protect herself in a den of vipers. But she also taught her compassion. Decency. Valuable things in this world. 

And she protected her. More than she ever realized while Mother still lived. She’ll always be grateful for Mother’s protection. That she kept her safe from Adrien.

“Finished,” Bella says and she stands up and looks in the mirror. It’s a perfect rendition of her handwriting. 

A single tear falls down her cheek, saying more than words ever could. “Thank you,” she whispers, regardless, giving Bella a hug. 

“Glad to help out, Allie,” she says, returning the hug. 

Mother’s love is always with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throughout the stories I’ve written, Elizabet/Alys’ relationship with her mothers is an important theme. Because both of them have had more impact on who she’s become than anyone else, even if she has no memories of her mum.


	7. Tied Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vasco makes good on a promise made several years previous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

“Comfortable? Ropes aren’t chafing are they, Tempest?”

Vasco hovers over her, all concern and sweetness and she can’t help but smile because it is so him to fuss over her before teasing and tormenting her. It’s one of the things she loves most about him: the soft sweetness he keeps carefully buried under the gruff, sarcastic exterior. 

“No Love, I’m good.” 

Having a Naut husband frequently has its advantages. Vasco knows his way around rope. Her arms are bound above her; her legs tied to each of the bed posts.

“What’s your word?” 

“North.” 

He kisses her belly and her cunt twitches; already desperate for attention. “Good. Got a knife by the bed, just in case, but I won’t need it.” 

“I know. Good thing I married a Naut,” she says, breathlessly. 

“Can I leave marks?”

“Below the neckline.” 

“Goes without saying. Can’t have our governor showing up in the throne room with evidence of her debauchery all over her throat, much as I would enjoy those uptight nobles scandalized by the evidence of how I’ve pleasured you,” he says against her breast as he kisses and nips his way to a nipple, swirling around it with his tongue. 

She mewls and tries to buck up, to get any sort of friction against his hardness but she cannot move. “It’s too early to be so impatient. It’ll be a long while before you’re allowed to come,” he sucks a mark onto her breast before laving the area with his tongue, soothing it. 

“Can’t talk you into a quick one? Wouldn’t take me long,” she pants and he looks up at her and smirks. 

“I’m in charge tonight and if you come, it will be when I allow it.” He speaks with authority, the same one he uses when giving his crew orders and a fresh wave of arousal dampens the sheets below her. 

“Fuck. It’s so sexy when you order me around.” 

Slowly, almost tortuously slow he kisses his way down her body before settling between her legs. A single finger runs up and down her slit and she instinctively tries to buck her hips. She whimpers and he meets her eyes. “You’re dripping for me.” 

“You tend to have that effect on me.” 

He lazily slides a finger over her clit and she gasps in pleasure. “Do you like that?” He asks softly and she nods vigorously. His finger rubs slow circles over her clit; pressure builds in her belly, far too slowly. “You will tell me when you’re close,” he says firmly. 

His ministrations continue, enough to be pleasurable but immensely unsatisfying and she moans in frustration. “A little more, please!” She cries, knowing that it will only intensify the ache in her core when he stops just as her orgasm is about to bloom. He indulges her and the ache turns to pleasure quickly; too quickly. “I’m close,” she says and his finger withdraws and so does the pleasure. 

His pupils are dilated and his cock stands hard between his legs, pre-cum dripping from the head. She desperately wants him to sit on her chest so she can take his cock into her mouth and suck him until he spills down her throat. “Can I suck your cock?” 

“Maybe later. Right now is about you.” He kisses her inner thigh, making his way to her centre. His tongue penetrates her, fucking her slowly as she tries, and fails, to rock her hips against his greedy mouth. 

When his tongue licks a stripe up to her clit, she shivers and, previously looking over the precipice, nearly falls over. “I’m close!” She nearly shouts, suddenly grateful she asked the evening staff to take the night off with pay to “rest and recharge” so they wouldn’t hear her husband make her scream. 

His tongue withdraws. “Good self-control, Tempest,” he says as he nips at her inner thigh. 

“Have I been good? Can I come now, Love?” 

“No, not yet.” He sits up and watches her as she pants, forehead damp with sweat. “I’ve long wondered something.” 

“Yeah?” 

“How close can I get you just by whispering filthy words in your ear as I grope your perfect tits? I think I’d like to find out.” 

He lies down next to her, settling on his side and cups her breast, feeling the weight of it in her palm and squeezing. “This is my favourite. When we take hours to lock ourselves away from the world just to enjoy each other’s bodies.” He plays with her nipple and she sighs and arches her back. “You’re so fucking beautiful, tied up and needy, pleading for release. And you’re even more beautiful when you hit the peak of your pleasure, thighs clamping my face as you rock against me, savouring every sweet moment of bliss my tongue gives you.” 

“Fuck...” 

“Tell me when you need me to stop.”

“I’m good. Not yet.”

“I’ve never told you the first time I touched myself to the thought of you. It was the night we first spoke on the ship. I’d raced to my quarters, grateful for my coat, which hid my very prominent, very hard cock from your hungry eyes. I thought of stripping you bare and taking you on your knees as I reached around to rub your clit; my cock hitting that spot inside you that I now know makes you scream. I imagined making you come so hard the entire ship knew I was balls deep inside you because I wanted everyone to know it was me, and only me that could make you feel like that. And when I came, I came harder than I’d had in years and I knew I was wrecked for any other lover.“

“Vasco!” She cries and his hand stills. 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs before leaning over to kiss her. 

“Please...” Her body is alight with desperate need and she struggles against the ropes, trying in vain to get closer to him. 

“You’ve never sat on my face,” he says casually, as if speaking of the weather. “I’d like that. To be surrounded by your pretty cunt; your thighs smothering me as I lick and suck you to your end.” 

“Is that how you’d like to finish me?” 

“No, not tonight. Tonight you’ll be tied up, at my mercy until I decide you’ve had enough. For now, I think I’m going to fuck you.”

“Yes! Fuck me, please!” She whines as he runs his hand down her body, pausing at her folds to stroke her clit before withdrawing and moving between her legs. His cock is at her entrance; he’s rubbing the head against her and she tries to move, to take him inside of her but she can’t and she moans in frustration. 

Slowly, almost painfully so, his cock penetrates her to the hilt and he stills, watching her. Her cunt clenches against his cock and she feels it twitch and jump as he lets out a soft moan. She looks at him, pleased to have thrown off the previously resolute self-control he’s had all night. 

“Do you want to come inside me?” 

“Naughty lass,” he says, trying to sound stern but he can’t quite wipe the smile off his face. “I told you; tonight is about you.” Slowly, he grinds into her, angling his hips to stimulate her clit. But it’s not enough, and as soon as she feels herself getting close; her cunt clenching around his cock or attempting to buck her hips he stills, watching, pupils blown with arousal as he waits for the pressure in her belly to dissipate. 

Eventually it becomes too much for him; his cock hardens and his body stiffens and he pulls out of her just before reaching his own end. Breathing hard, he kneels between her legs, his cock dripping with her arousal. 

“I’d like to finish you with my tongue. Is this amenable to you?” He asks as he kisses up her leg. 

“Yes, please. Please finish me with your tongue!” She begs. 

He buries his face between her legs once more, lapping at her clit and she can’t hold out against the mounting pleasure. From the motion of his arm and his quiet moans, she can tell he’s stroking himself, the knowledge he’s bringing himself to his own end while he pleasures her is overwhelming. 

“Please Love. I need to come. Please let me come,” she pleads, as she struggles against the ropes. 

He pauses and she’s about to cry out when he speaks, voice husky with arousal. “Come for me.” And his tongue returns to her clit, licking in the steady rhythm he knows she needs as he penetrates her with his fingers. Pleasure builds, a wave more intense than anything she’s ever felt, so intense she can hardly breathe and then it crashes; incredible, earth-shaking pleasure so overwhelming her vision goes black. Her thighs lock, holding Vasco in place against her as he works her through it.

He looks extremely pleased with himself, his abdomen and chest covered in his spend which makes her cunt twitch, despite her exhaustion. “You good?” He asks as he starts to undo the ropes. 

“Very.” She rests her head against the pillow, too spent to move. 

“Can’t say I’ve ever made someone come so hard they’ve passed out before.”

She had not realized. “I passed out?”

“For a few seconds, yes.” 

“No wonder you look so pleased with yourself.” With her legs now free from the bindings next he moves up beside her and kisses her, tongue slipping almost lazily into her mouth. All tenderness now; he cups her face and strokes her cheek with his thumb as he kisses her. 

“I should untie your hands, clean us up and get you some water.” He undoes the knots quickly, rubbing her wrists before standing up and pouring her a glass of water. She downs it, not realizing until now how thirsty she is. Bringing a bowl and a cloth over, he cleans them up before crawling back into bed beside her. He throws an arm over her waist, pulling her close. “Is this fine?” 

She turns around so she’s facing him and drapes her own arm over his waist. “Now it is.”

He kisses her cheeks, her forehead and finally her lips. “I love you. I love that we’ve been together for years and we’re still experiencing new things together. That we have so many things still to experience.” 

Sometimes, after particularly intense love making she becomes emotional. She smiles as a single tear rolls down her cheek. “You made me pass out and cry tonight. Well done,” she says jokingly. She turns serious. “I love you. Everything about you.”

He pulls her more tightly against him and she feels his breath on her neck as the warmth of his body and his steady breathing eases her to sleep.


	8. Navigational Challenges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, it’s not easy to read a map.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: references to past child abuse.

Elizabet De Sardet had a good education. One of the best money could buy. But she realizes that there was a huge gap in her schooling as she wanders out in the bush. 

She’s never learned how to read a map. A problem that doesn’t present itself immediately because Siora was leading them initially, but with Siora remaining in her village for a few days, her, Vasco and Kurt need to make their own way back to New Sérène. 

A task made even more uncomfortable by the fact that Vasco and Kurt generally don’t like one another. There seems to be some form of truce between them, but they talk little, leaving her to try to fill the otherwise painfully awkward silences. 

“Lovely scenery here,” she says lightly as they head south (she thinks). 

“Could do without all the beasts,” Kurt says. 

“And the holes in the ground. And the roots. And the tall grass,” Vasco grumbles. 

This is the first time he’s ever been out in the bush. He’s clearly uncomfortable with it but has generally kept his complaining to a minimum. Elizabet understands - his life has changed and he’s having a hard time with it. She wishes she could do more for him. 

“So we are headed back to New Sérène, Elizabet?” 

“That’s the plan.” 

Vasco gives her a strange look. “Then why are we heading north?”

“We aren’t,” she says in response before realizing that arguing with a Naut over directions is a foolish thing to do. 

Vasco sighs and points at the sky. “Sun is in the east. West is over that way. This is north.” 

“But I looked at the map...” she says weakly. 

It’s true. She consulted the map carefully and she was so sure she had them going in the right direction.

“Give it here,” Vasco says, not hiding his irritation. Elizabet pulls it out of her side bag and hands it to him. 

He takes a quick look at it before flipping it. “Definitely going the wrong way. Heading away from New Sérène and not towards it.” 

“The map told me to turn onto the path that we’re on...” Why is she still trying to defend her navigational decisions to a Naut? 

Vasco looks at the map for another moment before staring at her. “Which way were you looking at the map?” 

She takes it, turning it and she realizes the mistake she made just before Vasco opens his mouth. 

“You had it upside down,” he says bluntly. 

“I suppose I did,” she says, face inflamed. 

Kurt bursts out laughing. “So we’ve been walking the wrong way all day, then?” 

“Not all day! It’s only mid-morning.” 

“So, did your expensive education skim the lessons on how to read a map?” Kurt asks. 

“More like skipped it entirely...” she hands the map back to Vasco. 

“Think it will be better for all of us if I handle the navigation from now on. At least until I can teach you properly,” Vasco says as they turn around and head in the opposite direction. 

Her face is burning and her stomach is twisting as she fights against her anxiety. She feels like such a bloody idiot. Who can’t read a map? Her, apparently. What must Vasco think of her?

Kurt’s not nearly as annoyed as she would have expected, seemingly pleased, in fact, to have found something new to tease her about. Vasco... is not as easy to read. He was definitely annoyed with her but now he’s walking purposefully and quietly. 

Why didn’t she consult him first? To be so certain that she could read a damn map only to waste a whole morning? By the time they stop for the evening they’ll be camping not far from where they were last night. 

They walk for at least an hour in near silence, her anxiety coursing through her as she tries desperately to calm it. The wilds of Tír Fradí are dangerous, she needs to be at her best. 

“I never realized that grass had a smell,” Vasco says as he walks up beside her. 

“No?”

“We make port in cities. And I’ve never left the city before now. Prefer to stay close to the ocean.” 

“Do you like the way it smells? Many do.” 

Vasco shrugs. “Not terrible, I suppose. Prefer the smell of the sea.” 

As they fell asleep together last night she realized that the smell of sea salt no longer lingers on his skin and it made her heart hurt for him. 

“I never spent much time outside the city. Occasionally we’d head into the country, Constantin, his parents, Mother and I. I didn’t mind it, but it meant that I’d have to practice horseback riding with my riding instructor and I hated that.” 

“Not a fan of horses, then?” 

She shakes her head. “Always felt uncomfortable around them. Convinced I’d be thrown off. Constantin liked it a lot more than I did. But, he’s always enjoyed more dangerous activities. I’m the careful one.” 

Vasco smiles a little at that. “I got that impression about him.” 

The ball of anxiety nestled in her gut is starting to dissipate. He must not think her so hopeless and foolish if he’s talking to her now. 

“He got lost in the country once. Spent the night in the woods. I was the one who found him in the end. Well, he found me. I stood in the woods and shot balls of light into the air until he made his way over to where I was standing. Cold and dirty but well enough.” 

“His parents must have been relieved.”

She laughs, her bitterness probably evident. “They were angry that he ‘wasted their time and resources’ by getting lost. Only reason he didn’t get a beating was I stood between him and Uncle Adrien. Uncle wouldn’t dare touch me with Mother nearby.”

“How old were you two?” Vasco asks, looking disturbed by the turn the story has taken. 

“Constantin was 14, I was 12.” 

It was a common theme in the household: Constantin’s father deciding to punish his son, Elizabet intervening to protect him.

“Never understood beating someone into behaving, personally. Took a few of ‘em as a kid. For my smart mouth, mostly. Had a tendency to talk back to my superiors. Still do I suppose. Swore never to do it myself and I never will.” 

“It’s an awful thing. I was lucky. Mother never hit me. I’m sorry you dealt with that.” 

Vasco just shrugs. “It’s the accepted way of things. Nobody ever batted an eye at it and my beliefs regarding how barbaric it is are... uncommon.” 

“You don’t lead through fear. That makes you a good person. And a far better leader than those who use fear and intimidation.” 

“That is kind of you to say,” Vasco says, looking down at the ground. 

She doesn’t know what the admiral told him the day she laid him off but he’s hurting in ways he has yet to explain. But she won’t ask; she won’t prod at his open wound until he wishes to talk about it. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. 

“For what?” He’s confused. 

“Not knowing how to read a map. Wasting a day.” 

“There are worse things,” he says lightly before wrapping an arm around her. “You found those herbs you’d been looking for. Wouldn’t have done that if you’d sent us in the right direction.” 

“Still, I know it was frustrating to discover my incompetence.” 

Vasco pauses for a moment, seemingly considering his words. “I should have checked with you earlier. But I did not want to question you or give you the impression I didn’t think you knew what you were doing.” 

“But I didn’t know what I was doing, evidently.” 

“True.” 

“Vasco, I want you to question me. If you think I’m doing something wrong or if there’s something that can be done better, then speak up. Please. I trust you and I want your advice and help.” 

He nods. “You’d think I’d know that by now. It’s still a new thing to be advising someone of your station.” 

“I should have asked you instead of assuming I knew what I was doing.” 

“I’ll teach you. So if you’re ever in the bush without me you’ll be able to find your way.” 

She can’t imagine a scenario where she doesn’t have him by her side for an extended period of time. Truth be told, she never wants to be separated from him again. But now is not the right time for such confessions. Not when he’s so full of doubt and she doesn’t know when she’ll be able to leave with him and join him at sea if that is the life he ultimately decides he wants. She wants a life with this man but wonders how they’ll achieve it - assuming he desires the same thing. 

“I’d appreciate you teaching me.” The wind picks up and the cold air makes her shiver. Vasco pulls her closer as they walk. “Can we cuddle tonight?” 

“When have I ever refused you?” Vasco says and she smiles against him, forcing herself to live in this moment, the one where she’s in the arms of the man she loves and not worrying about the future. 

***

Navigation outside the cities is never something she figures out, even with Vasco’s instruction. He handles it whenever they head into the bush and the team trusts his sense of direction without question. 

Elizabet does learn one interesting thing about him: he’s got a terrible sense of direction in cities. Navigating the winding streets of New Sérène, Hikmet and San Matheus confuses him. 

“All the buildings look the same!” He complains as she finds him two streets over from the cafe they’d agreed to meet at following her meeting with some palace officials. 

“No, that one is a slightly different shade of white,” she says, pointing at a building, pleased to be able to rib him a little. 

“Which way is north?” He responds immediately, eyebrow raised. 

Vasco always does give as good as he gets. But her pride is on the line so she looks up to the sky to try to figure it out. It’s mid-day so the sun is high in the sky. Not helpful. She points to her left. 

“That would be west.” 

“How can you tell? You can’t use the sun at this time of day!” 

“While I cannot navigate individual streets well, I do know that to leave the city one must go north. Very easy to figure it out from there.” 

Well, he has her there. “I’d ask you to get us to the cafe but I suspect we’d be wandering the city for the rest of the afternoon.” 

“You would be correct. Eventually I’ll memorize the routes to get to the places we go to frequently. I’ve got the area closest to the port memorized.” 

She hooks her arm in his. “Don’t worry, I won’t suggest we meet at cafes you aren’t familiar with again. Would hate for you to end up spending the day wandering back alleys.”


	9. First Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabet thinks about Vasco and remembers the first time she ever had feelings for someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: brief reference to child abuse.

She’s never been in love before, she thinks as her and Constantin do their best to avoid getting thrown off the bed in the midst of the storm. Didn’t know it felt like this. 

Love was always presented as this grand, sweeping thing in the books she read growing up. This is far simpler. She wants to know everything about Vasco, and she wants him to be happy. 

Briefly she wonders if she could ever take to the sea. Certainly not as a sailor, but as a healer? If only she could find someone to teach her! She’d be happy saving lives, she thinks. Her healing magic is the thing she’s most proud of - but there’s still so much to learn. 

She knows enough to know that she would never be able to be both a politician and a doctor. It wouldn’t be accepted. To be a doctor would mean giving up the only life she knows. Strangely not a thought that gives her anxiety. Everything scares her; it’s so rare that the ball of stress and dread sitting in her stomach silences itself. But this doesn’t. Probably just because the idea itself is so impossible; she needs to support Constantin and find a cure for the malichor. What she wants in her life isn’t a factor. 

The sound of Constantin retching beside her pulls her out of her head. “Can I do anything?” 

“Shoot me?” He whines into the bucket. 

“Kurt already made that request and I declined to indulge it. If I must suffer so will you.” 

... Not that she’s suffering. At least not nearly as much as Constantin is. Or how Kurt must be. She vomited twice, feels mildly unpleasant but she’s more concerned about injuring herself when the ship tosses her around. 

“Torture is not very nice, Elizabet.” Constantin does have a flare for the dramatic sometimes. 

“I am certain you will manage and endure far worse in your long life than a little seasickness.” 

She should have known her feelings for Vasco had moved beyond carnal attraction when she didn’t just imagine bedding him or running her hands down his body. Things she still wants, but she also wants softer touches. To fall asleep in his arms listening to the beating of his heart. To hold his hand and run her fingers along the strange lines tattooed on his fingers. To find out what those tattoos mean. 

Once she dared to imagine a life with him. One where he showed up at her door when he was in New Sérène and they made the best of the time they had. But then she had to banish it. Because it hurts too much. It’s not realistic to expect they’ll ever have a life together, as much as she may want it. 

Vasco wouldn’t love her. He’s certainly attracted to her and enjoys her company on some level. But love? Not a chance. It’s a fanciful dream, nothing more. 

“You ever been in love?” She asks Constantin. 

“Well, there was this woman I slept with who -“ He sounds downright mischievous. 

“Please, no.” It’s rare that she talks matters of the heart with him and she’s remembering why. 

“Never saw the use of it. Father would sign some contract tying me to the daughter of some rich noble so why set myself up for heartbreak? I wouldn’t be able to escape it the way you did.” 

He says that, but he’s had infatuations. Women he’s had discreet affairs with. “No one you wanted to marry if you could?” 

“But I couldn’t. All I’m worth is whatever some family will pay for the honour of their daughter gaining my last name,” he says bitterly. 

There’s nothing she can say to comfort him. Not really. “You’re worth so much more than that to me.” 

He pats her knee. “You’re my lucky star, Elizabet.” 

Constantin dozes off eventually - surely a relief for him given how sea sick he is, so she’s left to deal with the rocking alone in the dark. Occasionally there’s the deafening sound of thunder and she can hear the rain falling in sheets. 

***

Elizabet is ten and has developed her first crush. A girl named Ophelia. She has thick blonde ringlets and pretty green eyes. At court, she tells Ophelia that she likes her hair and her dress. At first she’s gracious and Elizabet buzzes with excitement - maybe Ophelia will kiss her! 

The next time she sees Ophelia she gives her a box of cupcakes. Specially made for her by their baker. Ophelia’s eyes narrow. “What are these for?” 

“A gift. For you,” Elizabet fiddles with her fingers and bites her lip nervously. 

“Oh.” Elizabet looks up to see Ophelia look at her with consternation. As if the child of a servant had asked to play with her. “You like me! Even if I liked other girls why would you think I’d stoop low enough to court a girl with a face like yours? I bet if I touch you I’d catch the malichor!” 

The other children look at her and laugh. Her eyes well up with angry tears. “It’s not the malichor!” She cries, her face burning with shame. “The doctors say it’s just a birth mark!” 

“You’re ugly, Elizabet. Get away from me. Nobody could ever love a girl with a face like yours.” 

Wiping her eyes, she sprints out of the room. One of the other children lifts his leg out and trips her, sending her to the ground. Her chin scrapes the floor and she touches it and looks at the blood on her fingers. It occurs to her that now she’s uglier than ever. 

She runs into Constantin as she’s racing to her bedroom. “What’s the matter Elizabet?” He puts his hands on her arms to steady her. 

“Ophelia...doesn’t...like...me,” she hiccoughs. “Told all the children how ugly I am. That nobody could ever love me.” 

Fury washes over her cousin’s face. “What is Ophelia’s last name?” 

“Enos.” 

Constantin takes her hand. “I’m going to speak with Mr. De Courcillon and then we will go and have a chat with Ophelia.” His voice is steady. Too steady. 

She waits outside while Constantin talks to Mr. De Courcillon. Mostly so she can calm down and dry her eyes. Explaining to Mr. De Courcillon about fancying Ophelia would be too embarrassing. 

He takes her hand. “Elizabet, let me escort you to the party!” 

Ophelia is lingering with a group of other children near the adults. Looking rather proud of herself. She sees her and Constantin approaching. “Does your cousin want to hear how ugly you are?” She taunts. 

“I’m curious when you last saw your father. Lord Enos?” Constantin speaks loudly and several adults turn to watch. 

The smug expression washes off her face, replaced with fear. “He’s been away on business.” 

“That’s the excuse your mother told you to give? How much business can be done in prison?” The eyes of the children and adults around them widen and she hears murmurs amongst the crowd of nobles. 

“You lie!” Ophelia cries. 

“Fraud! Your father committed fraud, cheating many families out of their investments. And he was thrown in prison. Not smart, to be cruel to Elizabet when your name is all you have left and it is plenty tarnished,” Constantin sneers. “Nobody will ever want the daughter of a criminal.” 

“Stop! Please stop!” Ophelia screams, tears running down her cheeks. The murmurs amongst the crowd grow louder; evidently this was not common knowledge. And surely something Mr. De Courcillon had not intended to be announced so publicly. No, this was information given to Constantin under the expectation that he would maintain absolute discretion. Ophelia runs out of the room. “Nobody makes my cousin cry!” He shouts after her. 

The Enos family’s reputation - or what was left of it, is ruined. Uncle Adrien’s rant about Constantin’s actions can be heard through the closed door of the sitting room. That he’ll never climb the ladder unless he starts behaving in a noble way. 

His cheek is puffy and bruised when he leaves the sitting room. She gives him a tight hug and asks if he’d like to practice with their wooden swords. He shakes his head. “Need to go for a walk,” he says, sounding gloomy. 

While he means to go on his own, she doesn’t want him to be alone. He’s sad. And if he needs to cry then she can offer her shoulder and give him a hug. So she follows behind him - from enough of a distance that he doesn’t notice her. 

He walks to the city walls and pauses. Looks up at them. And starts to climb. Nobody pays him any mind - why doesn’t an adult stop him? She runs to the wall. “Constantin!” 

“Father told me I’d never climb the ladder. I’m showing him!” He shouts back at her. 

“You could get hurt!” 

“He wouldn’t care! He doesn’t love me.”

She climbs up after him. When he’s about to put his weight on a broken rung she yells in warning. They make it to the top and sit on the wall. “He must love you. You’re his son!” 

Constantin shakes his head. “No he doesn’t. I’ll never be good enough for him.” 

Briefly Elizabet looks down before vertigo hits and she realizes just how high up they are. Her hands grip the top of the wall even more tightly. 

“You’re good enough for me. You’re my best friend! And you protected me! Did you tell him that?”

Constantin shakes his head. “Didn’t want to risk getting you into trouble.” 

“Thank you for standing up for me. I mean it when I say you’re my best friend. The bestest friend ever.” 

He looks over at her and smiles, tousling her hair a little. “My darling little cousin. I’d cause a thousand more scandals to protect you.” 

Eventually they make their way down. Elizabet first, followed by Constantin. A coin guard is waiting at the bottom, evidently aware of who they are and escort them back to the palace. Another guard brings them to Uncle Adrien. 

Uncle grabs Constantin’s arm roughly, pulling him towards him. “Explain.” 

Constantin protected her; now it’s time to repay the favour. “Uncle Adrien, it was my fault. I had wanted to get a better look at the city, you see. Constantin told me it was a bad idea but climbed up with me to make sure I didn’t get hurt.” 

He looks suspicious at first but then his face relaxes into a smirk. “A little adventurer you are, just like your father. Do avoid climbing the walls, Elizabet. Run along you two.” He waves his hand towards the door. 

“Thank you Uncle Adrien.” She takes Constantin’s hand and they leave the sitting room unscathed. 

***

“What are you thinking about?” Constantin’s voice interrupts her thoughts. 

“Ophelia Enos and how you embarrassed her after she made me cry.” 

Constantin laughs merrily. “The girl had it coming! To be so rude to you? Pure stupidity.”

“She hadn’t married by the time we left, had she?” 

“No. While her father is no longer imprisoned, her family is given wide berth. Serves them right.” 

Years removed from the situation she does feel sympathy for Ophelia. It was cruel what she said, but children are frequently cruel. The news of her father would have come out eventually, but to have it revealed so publicly was disastrous. 

Deep down she knows what Constantin did wasn’t right. That the honourable thing to do would have been to turn the other cheek. 

“Surely she will find a match. Perhaps with a non-noble family who has found financial success?” 

“You’re too kind, dear cousin. No harm in failing to wish someone well. Especially someone who was so mean to you.” 

“I suppose I sympathize because I will never marry, myself.” 

“Still say you should run off to sea. Marry your sea captain and fuck the nobles, fuck my father and fuck the continent.” 

None of the people she’s truly fancied have been like Vasco. While she’s always been attracted to Nauts, she never thought she’d ever love one. 

It’s not just that he’s impossibly handsome in all the ways she enjoys - high cheekbones, tattoos, piercings and lean muscle. He’s smart, refreshingly honest and blunt, and so damn decent. She’s seen glimpses of the sweetness he keeps hidden underneath his gruff exterior. Slowly as they’ve gotten to know one another she’s started to chip down the walls he keeps up.

She sits up for awhile even after Constantin lies down. 

“You still thinking about Ophelia?” Constantin says sleepily. 

“No. Love.” 

“So your handsome sea captain then?” 

“Yes.” 

“Get to bed before the storm gets worse. And don’t make it weird by having a sex dream about your lover while we’re sharing a bed,” he says, all mirth and lightness. 

“I could sleep on the floor,” she says dryly, not bothering to correct him; Constantin wouldn’t care that they aren’t actually lovers. 

“The floor that’s soaked? I couldn’t possibly do that to you.” 

She lies down on the other side of the bed. “Don’t worry, you’ll never know what occurs in my subconscious. I’m extremely discreet.” 

“Fuck off,” Constantin says, giving her a friendly shove before reaching his hand out to hold hers, the way they often slept as children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I didn’t write it, Mr. De Courcillon definitely gave Constantin the ‘I’m not mad, I’m disappointed’ lecture when he discovered what was done with the information he’d sworn Constantin to secrecy about.


	10. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt and Vasco step in to try to ease Elizabet’s grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Grief and anxiety and a reference to child abuse.

Some days it hits her harder than other days. Frequently first thing in the morning before she is forced to drag herself out of bed and do the job meant for her beloved cousin. Those are the mornings Vasco quietly brings her breakfast in bed, coaxing her to eat as she stares blankly at the wall.   
Other days, it’s the early evening, with the sun low in the sky; the same time of day she felt Constantin’s blood spill out of his body and onto her hands. Hands that will never be clean again. Frequently Vasco is still at the port at that hour. It’s better that way. She doesn’t deserve comfort or tender touches. Not when she can still imagine the blood under her fingernails.   
  
“It will get easier in time,” Kurt tells her as she stares at the mountain of paperwork on her desk, unsure of where to start. “Shall we take a break? Head to the Naut tavern?”   
  
Kurt always suggests they go to the Naut tavern now. Vasco likely told him she prefers it there. Because she’s invisible. Not the governor, not Adrien d’Orsay’s niece, but the wife of a captain.   
  
“Too much to do.” Yet she continues to stare at the paperwork, unable to start in on it.   
  
“Perhaps Lady Morange or Mr. De Courcillon will be able to advise on the most important things on your desk?”   
  
“I don’t want them to see me like this.” Broken down, unable to think of anything except for the fact that she killed the only remaining member of her adoptive family that she still loved.   
  
Maybe if she’s a terrible enough governor they’ll fire her and she can escape to the sea with Vasco, she sometimes thinks. But the world needs her at her best. It takes brute force to gather the energy to start in on the paperwork on her desk. Kurt nods approvingly and takes a seat in the corner of her office. He doesn’t need to be in the office to guard her, not really, but he is anyway. More to keep her company, she suspects.   
  
Briefly she wonders if him and Vasco are talking about her. If Vasco asked Kurt to keep her company.   
  
“If you wanted to go elsewhere, Kurt…”   
  
“I’m fine sticking around here. None of the other fancy palace types are as fun as you are.”   
  
She smiles at that. “I’m afraid I’m not much fun right now.”   
  
“No, you aren’t,” he agrees and Elizabet gives him a look, which he meets with a wry smile, “but nobody would be. It’s been a month. You’ll be mourning awhile yet.”   
  
“I can still feel his blood on my hands,” she whispers. Not something she’s told anyone else, not even Vasco. But Kurt knew Constantin. Cared for Constantin.   
  
“Does it help to be reminded that you did what needed to be done? That you saved countless lives, both here and on the continent? He wasn’t the boy you grew up with. Not anymore.”   
  
“Vasco has told me to think of his death happening the day Catasach bonded him to the island. That it was the malichor that killed him, because the person he was died that day. Says I only killed the shell that remained.”   
  
“Your husband is a smart man. Listen to him.”   
  
“Does it go away?”   
  
“Does what go away?”   
  
“The feeling of blood on your hands. Knowing that you took the life of someone you love, even if it had to be done.”   
  
“You’ll never forget what happened that day. But in time you’ll accept it. Understand that the world we’ll have a decade from now is because of your actions.”   
  
It’s enough. For today, at least. Picking up her pen once more, she attempts to tackle the stack of paperwork in front of her.   
  
***  
  
The nightmares are bad. She wakes up, kicking and thrashing, because in her head she was back there, fighting for her life.   
  
Vasco holds her. Every single time. He asks if she wants to talk about it and sometimes she does. Other times she just wants to try to get back to sleep.   
  
She notices the bruises on his shins the next morning. “Did you hurt yourself at the port?”   
  
Vasco just shakes his head. “Are you feeling up to eating breakfast in the dining room?” He changes the subject quickly. Too quickly.   
  
“Love, what happened? I should heal them.” Perhaps it’s a silly thing; he’s fine, but she hates seeing any sort of injury on him. Or anyone else. Not when a quick spell will clear it up.  
  
“It doesn’t matter. They’ll be fine in a few days but if you wish to heal them, you can.”   
  
Concentrating, she directs a healing spell at his shins and the bruises clear up in moments. “Thank you,” he tells her.   
  
Why won’t he tell her what happened? It hits her at breakfast: because it’s her fault. She must have kicked him last night in her panic. A fork drops and hits the plate, startling her.   
  
“Tempest?”   
  
“It was me.”   
  
Vasco looks confused. “What…”   
  
“I hurt you,” she cuts in.   
  
“You did not. It was just a few bruises, I get worse when Kurt and I spar.”   
  
What kind of person is so unable to control their emotions that they wake up in a panic several times a week? She hasn’t cried much. Not the way she thought she would when she realized that Constantin had to die. Instead it’s nightmares and catatonia.   
  
But now she cries. Because she’s broken and she kicked him in her sleep and how can he love a broken thing?   
  
She hears Vasco ask the serving staff to give them some privacy. His arm wraps around her, pulling her close. She should stop crying. Dry her eyes and get on with her day. But it’s as if a faucet in her body has been opened and she just can’t stop. Vasco says nothing; he just holds her as she cries into his shirt, mourning not just Constantin but the woman she was before she took his life.   
  
“I’m sorry I’m broken. I’m not sure how you could possibly love a broken thing,” she says once the tears finally stop, her voice raspy and thick with emotion.   
  
“I really wish you’d stop being so unkind to the woman I love,” he says, giving her a kiss on the forehead.   
  
She doesn’t understand and must look baffled because he explains himself. “You’re not a thing; you’re a person. A person in mourning who was forced into an impossibly cruel situation by the world, but who handled it admirably, with grace and courage. You’re hurting now, yes, but not broken. A little bruised, perhaps. How could I possibly not love you?”   
  
If there were any tears left to cry, they’d be drawn out of her by his sweet words. “I’m so sad all the time. Can hardly laugh at all. I’m not the person I was when we met.”   
  
“Nor am I. You’ll recover; you just need to be gentle with yourself. And, until you do, I’m happy to live with bruised shins.”   
  
Crying was like a release. She feels lighter somehow. But delicate, as prone to tearing as the wings of a butterfly.   
  
Vasco sees this. “What’s on your plate today?”   
  
“Several meetings with Congregation citizens.”   
  
“Who live here in the city, correct?” She nods in response. “Take the day off. I can tell your advisors you’re ill. We can spend the day here, or go for a walk if you’d prefer.”   
  
There’s too much to do. She has so many responsibilities. “I couldn’t possibly neglect my duties…”   
  
“You’re taking care of your health. Take today off and you’ll be better prepared to perform your duties moving forward.”   
  
“I must look like shit.”   
  
“You look like a woman in mourning who needed the release. Would you like me to talk to your advisors or would you rather speak to them?”   
  
He’s not going to let this go. It’s the way he is; when he sees her pushing herself too hard he steps in. Reminds her of her limits.   
  
She should be the one to tell her advisors she’s not feeling well. But they’re from a different generation, where the expectation is a stiff upper lip – not just at court but in private, as well. That she’s so prone to anxiety and tears is seen as a character flaw.   
  
And she’s so damn delicate right now. “Can you inform them I’ve taken ill and that I need the sea air to recover?” She doesn’t want to be in their quarters today. They were Constantin’s once and there are reminders of him everywhere. She should ask that they redecorate; paint the rooms and rearrange the furniture. But she can’t bear to. Not yet.   
  
“I’ll be back shortly,” he says, kissing her on the cheek.   
  
Her advisors don’t approve of her marriage. They see the decisions she makes in her personal life as eccentric. A flaw chipping her seemingly glossy mask. It is as if they’ve yet to realize that the Elizabet De Sardet who is a diplomat, who chats politely with nobles at court doesn’t actually exist. That the true Elizabet is anxiously awaiting the day she can leave life as a politician forever and take to the sea with her husband, disavowing all connection with the Congregation.  
  
He tries to hide his irritation from her when he returns. But he’s frustrated; his body is held stiff, his face was set in a frown until he realizes the need to mask it. “We can leave using the servant’s entrance. If we dress like Nauts nobody will bat an eye as we make our way to the beach. Kurt has offered to join us too.”   
  
“Kurt’s company would be nice.”   
  
The three of them walk towards the port, dressed as sailors. They walk along the beach that has come to mean so much to her: the place he first told her he loves her, and the place he proposed to her.   
  
For the last month, things have been anything but normal. Her and Vasco moved to the palace; agreeing to tolerate her life as governor until she can step away and they can live the life they both want. She’s fought with her grief, hardly making it through the day most of the time. Putting on a brave face only to stare at a wall behind closed doors, unable to dredge up the energy to talk to anyone, not even her husband.   
  
She wants normal. To do what they’d be doing had none of this happened. But she doesn’t know how to start a conversation right now.   
  
Luckily, Kurt helps her. “Sailor, I’ve always been curious about something.”   
  
“Oh? About me?” Vasco responds almost flirtatiously, and Kurt rolls his eyes in response, but he’s smiling; amused by the exchange.   
  
“How long does it take to get covered in tattoos like you are?”   
  
“Long as in…how many years does it take to earn them? Or the time spent in the chair?”   
  
“In the chair.”   
  
“I’ve hardly kept track of the number of hours by now. But, the ones spanning my ribs took the better part of a day to do, if that helps. Those were the only ones where I kept close track of the time that passed.”   
  
“Why is that? Are they sentimental?” Kurt’s never asked Vasco what any of his tattoos mean.   
  
“Not particularly. There are others that mean more to me. It was just a deeply unpleasant process.”   
  
“So getting tattooed in the ribs is painful?”   
  
Vasco smirks. “Tempest, give your bodyguard a poke in the ribs. To prove my point.”   
  
“I’m not getting myself shoved into the water to prove your point. Poke him yourself.”   
  
“Dare you to try, Sailor,” Kurt says as he removes the jacket he’s wearing and drops his sword; Vasco does the same, leaving them clad in just their shirts and breeches. Kurt takes off in a run, Vasco follows, and it’s so absurd that she can’t help but laugh at them.   
  
“You two are ridiculous!” she calls after them.   
  
Vasco catches up to Kurt; she knew he would because he generally moves more quickly than Kurt does. Evidently Vasco is successful because Kurt shoves him towards the water, but Vasco grabs his wrist, taking Kurt with him. She runs over to them and finds them laughing and splashing water at each other.   
  
“Come to join us?” Vasco asks. His wet shirt clings to him and she can see the dark tattoos covering his body through it.  
  
“You are both wet.”   
  
“Keenly observed, Green Blood.”   
  
She takes off her own coat, dropping it onto the beach. “Do your worst.”   
  
Kurt looks at Vasco. “She’s your wife which means she has to forgive you for an unplanned dip in the surf.”   
  
“You’re really going to make me pull you in, Elizabet? Not just going to come sit with us in the water? It’s warm today.”   
  
“No, you are going to have to earn it.” Vasco shrugs and lunges at her knees; she jumps back and takes off into a run, knowing that he’ll quickly outrun her. But she’s anticipating it – hearing the two of them laugh at her, the way he’ll smile at her, and the way he’ll insist she takes his coat if she grows chilled.   
  
He doesn’t shove her or pull her down into the water. Instead he runs ahead, grabs her and tosses her over his shoulder and makes his way to the water as she squirms and laughs with a shocking amount of joy. He sits back down, pushing her off his shoulders so she lands in front of him.   
  
“I believe this means I win,” Vasco says as Kurt makes his way over to them, settling beside her.   
  
“Yes, Vasco. Congratulations, you got me wet.”   
  
“Not for the first time,” he says, and that smile, the one she knew he’d have, shows itself.   
  
Kurt groans. “Fuck off, Sailor.”   
  
“You do both realize that this is very undignified and if we return to the palace soaking wet I’m liable to get a lecture about propriety, yes?”   
  
“Could head to the Naut tavern. They’re used to dealing with soggy sailors fresh from a dip in the ocean so they won’t bat an eye at any of us. We can dry off and have a few drinks before returning to the palace looking perfectly dignified.”   
  
They’re probably not going to look dignified; her hair is wet and it will be a challenge making it look put together once more, but they’ll be dry.   
  
“Lead the way, Love.”   
  
There’s little they can do to dry off, but they all make a valiant effort before Vasco leads them to the tavern. “They won’t lecture you about your own actions; they’ll place the blame squarely on my shoulders.” Vasco adopts a singularly horrible falsetto voice, “That Naut has no understanding of life in a palace. He’s a poor influence on you, and he could have caused a scandal. We can’t have the governor be seen having fun! The horror!”  
  
Elizabet laughs and takes his hand.   
  
It’s not until they’re a drink in at the tavern that she realizes that it’s been hours since she last thought of what happened a month previous. That all of the silliness was their way of trying to cheer her up; to act as a reminder that she can still have fun and feel light.   
  
While they may not have planned what exactly happened, they almost certainly planned to try to make her laugh with their antics.   
  
“Thank you both,” she says, turning to give Vasco, and then Kurt a hug.   
  
There’s no need to explain what she’s thanking them for, and there’s no need for them to respond.   
  
“Tell us a story, Sailor,” Kurt says, “Something Green Blood hasn’t heard before.”   
  
Vasco takes a sip of his drink. “Oh, I have a good one. Got myself into more than a little trouble for it.”   
  
“What’d you do?” She asks. Hearing the stories of his life always fascinate her. The life he’s lived is so different from life in a palace. But one day that life will be hers and she cannot wait.  
  
“It was my second voyage as a cabin boy. One of the things the captain had me do was serve drinks to the sailors in the evenings. Now, this group was a stubborn bunch, didn’t care to take the restoratives required to ward off scurvy. So the captain had started slipping them into their drinks, and it was my job to do this.”   
  
“They didn’t want to take the potions needed to remain healthy?”   
  
“Weren’t the brightest bunch. I finished the bottle he gave me, and, not wanting to disturb him, decided to go to the infirmary myself to grab a new one. Man had a bit of a foul temper, you see.”   
  
She knows where this story is going.   
  
“Grabbed an identical bottle, not bothering to read the label. Was pleased with myself for finding it and went back to work. Captain didn’t suspect a thing until a quarter of his crew ended up passed out on deck. Far too many to simply have found themselves too deep in their cups.”   
  
“So, the captain had a bit of a mess on his hands. Had to explain why a sleeping potion got into some of their drinks. And a few poor sailors ended up having to stay up all night because we were short several conscious crew members. Understandably, the crew wasn’t impressed that their drinks had been spiked the whole time, even if it was for their own damn good.”   
  
“What did the captain do to you?”   
  
“Got a beating. Anyone else and he’d have assigned them to clean the deck and privies, but since that was my job to begin with…”   
  
Her and Kurt both wince in sympathy. They have spoken before about their feelings regarding such punishments and how barbaric they are.   
  
“Anyways, that is how I learned that Nauts do not sniff their drinks. Information that occasionally proved itself useful to us.”   
  
The three of them sit at the tavern until late in the evening and upon returning to the palace, discover that it is empty, save for a few guards who nod at her in greeting.   
  
“My advisors will never know of our misadventures today.” Vasco almost looks disappointed when she says this.   
  
Years later, Elizabet looks back on that day as a turning point. The beginning of her recovery. There were still bad days after that, to be sure, but she knew there would be good ones too. Something that gave her the strength to persevere when the grief and guilt were at its worst.


	11. Diplomacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vasco dives into the world of politics as an admiral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Briefly NSFW

Being an admiral is a change. In so many ways. He misses being at sea all the time, but he doesn’t miss the rough waters, the bruises and other minor injuries that are a common part of life at sea. His back feels better too. 

But dammit, being an admiral is bloody annoying at times. As the person in charge of the ports on the island he has a lot of contact with the nobility and other leaders on the island. 

More than once he’s found himself wondering what Admiral Cabral was thinking when she suggested him as her replacement. He’s not diplomatic at all! 

Alys is happy. She’s training her new apprentice, has a clinic set up at port and enjoys having the chance to go to her preferred cafe to buy a coffee once in awhile. Even if she does get stared at when she does so. Apparently a Naut who enjoys coffee is unusual. 

This afternoon he’s meeting the new legate. A woman by the name of Stephanie Dubois. Likely from the Dubois family from Sérène, Alys tells him. But she knows nothing more, and he hadn’t expected her to; she’s been a Naut for two decades and lived away from Sérène even longer than that. 

A knock on his office door alerts him to her arrival. He opens the door. She’s young - probably Alys’ age when she was Legate (it’s amazing looking back and realizing how young they both were at the time). Undoubtedly noble; she’s dressed in a silk blouse, long skirt and shoes with a heel. Briefly he wonders if she wears those out in the field or if they’re reserved for when she’s in the city. There’s a sword hilted on her hip. 

He extends his hand. “Admiral Vasco.” 

She takes his hand and shakes it firmly. “Lady Dubois, Legate to the Congregation of Merchants.” 

The two of them sit down. Lady Dubois speaks first. “Admiral, I wanted to come here, not only to introduce myself, but to explain my position to you. I serve as the diplomat to Governor -“

“I know what a legate is,” Vasco cuts in, irritated that this woman assumes him to be ignorant of how politics work on land. 

The only good thing about the condescension is that it reveals she has no clue who he is. That she hasn’t recognized him from their portrait, which is apparently still hanging somewhere in the palace, or by name. His time traveling with Alys and his heroism at Dorhagenedu are fairly well known, even all these years later. 

Lady Dubois clears her throat. “Apologies, I had not realized Nauts have legates.”

“We don’t,” he says blithely, wishing he could be almost anywhere else right now. 

“Oh. Well, I am here to reiterate New Sérène’s commitment to maintaining a positive relationship with the Nauts. And to inform you that there may be matters in which your aid will be valuable.” 

“Land politics do not concern Nauts.” He’s turned into Admiral Cabral. She said the same thing all of those years ago. 

The woman across from him looks uncomfortable. She’s inexperienced, unsure of how to speak with someone not from her world. Someone who got the role by virtue of her connections and not her skill. A far cry from his wife back in her days in the role - the entire reason she was kidnapped was so she could take on the role of diplomat on the island but she had been trained well. 

“I suspect in this instance it will.” She speaks nervously, rattled by the less-than-warm welcome received. 

He simply raises his eyebrow and waits for her to continue. 

“There’s been rebellion since Prince d’Orsay’s death. Her Highness, Princess d’Orsay has not been received well on the mainland. Should conflict escalate it could extend beyond the borders of the city.” 

“And what assistance are you looking for?” 

Lady Dubois hesitates. “Cargo shipments. An agreement not to ship rebel supplies.” 

Were they using the services of the Nauts, these purported rebels would be clever; making shipping arrangements under false pretences. They’re not going to sign a contract announcing who they are - unless they’re idiots. 

“I expect the treaty could be amended - at an increase in costs you understand. But you must be aware that your rebels will not be advertising their intentions. They may not even be using our services.” 

It would be quicker and easier for the rebels on the island to find local suppliers than receive cargo shipped across the sea. Hikmet and San Matheus merchants would have no qualms with selling to rebels. 

She nods her head. “Should the conflict escalate the governor may approach you about an alliance.” 

“As I said, land politics mean nothing to us.” 

He’s not getting his people involved in whatever this is. Unless Naut lives are directly threatened, of course. 

The typical diplomatic pleasantries follow and he’s sure the meeting has reached its conclusion when the woman stands up, shakes his hand and walks to the door. And then she turns around. “Would you tell me about yourself, Admiral Vasco?” 

Is this a trap? “What would you like to know?” He speaks calmly, hiding any suspicion. 

“How does one become an Admiral?” 

“Merit.” 

“And what merited such a promotion? Any heroics of note?” 

“A lifetime of dedicated and competent service. Was made Captain at 23; youngest Naut in history, Commander at 29. Once again, the youngest in history.” 

“Must have been a lonely life.” 

Dammit. This woman was bloody testing him with her condescending legate bullshit. And he walked right into it. She knows exactly who he is and she’s digging for information about his wife. “Nauts are family. I’ve spent my life surrounded by my family, could hardly be lonely.” 

“Ever meet anyone special?” 

“My personal life is none of your concern,” he says firmly. 

“You spent several years on land, didn’t you, Admiral Vasco?” 

“None of your concern, Lady Dubois.” 

“Elizabet De Sardet, Legate and, subsequently, Governor had a Naut companion. A man she married and their portrait still hangs in the palace. She was declared dead long ago. I was just a young child at the time, but Congregation children grew up learning of the woman who cured the malichor and who did the impossible: united warring countries and factions to save Tír Fradí from a mysterious threat. But I don’t think she’s dead. And I think you know where she is.” 

Fuck. He wishes he could talk to Alys about how to approach this. She’d recommend a diplomatic approach; demure and deflect. But he can’t help but worry that the knowledge that she is alive could threaten her now that they’re living in port. 

“Elizabet De Sardet is dead. You’re chasing a ghost, Lady Dubois. Now, I do have other matters to attend to. Good day.” He stares at her, refusing to drop his gaze and she nods and leaves without another word. 

This isn’t the end of it, but the next time it comes up he has no intention of being diplomatic. 

“Lady Dubois knew who I was, Tempest,” he says to his wife that night. 

“We knew this was a possibility when you took the position. I’m not especially worried.” 

She’s really not. With Adrien now dead and the signed contract affirming that neither of them will ever be contacted by the d’Orsay family, she has been more relaxed about the possibility of being discovered. 

“I fear for you. What this legate will do when she finds the truth. And she will find it.” 

“Love, you do remember that I occasionally used my position to threaten, don’t you?” 

“I do.” 

“As an admiral you’re in the position to do the same.” 

“You’re advocating I not take the diplomatic approach?” 

She walks over and wraps her arms around his neck. “I’m saying that you have the power to make life very difficult for the Congregation. All she might need is a reminder of that fact. If you’re concerned she’s digging too much, that is.” 

“I don’t want her to think she can push you back into that life.” 

“I wouldn’t go. And if she tries to ask me for advice I’ll describe medical procedures. In great detail.” She grins wickedly at him and he pulls her closer, kissing her hard. 

“I’d almost like to see that. Woman strikes me as the squeamish sort.” 

“To be completely honest, I can’t imagine many people truly believed me dead. At least not those who live here. Our marriage was hardly a secret; most who knew about it would have figured out I joined the Nauts after resigning.” 

“I’ll do my best to keep her away from you. The clinic is in an area off limits to outsiders, as is our cabin. If she spots you it won’t be at port.” 

***

His wife loves coffee and while he personally can’t stand the stuff, it’s nice to go to the cafe with her once in awhile. It’s a rare afternoon he can take off, but he’ll be working late into the night tonight so he’s taking a break while he can.

The shop Alys takes him to is the same one they visited periodically so many years ago. It’s now run by the daughter of the previous owner. A friendly enough woman who seems a bit baffled by her unusual customers. 

“I’ve been transferred to a position in port,” Alys explains. 

“My fault. I’m the new admiral,” he adds and the woman nods. 

“Never met a Naut with a taste for coffee. It’s not cheap. Your husband must make a good wage,” she says, winking at Alys. 

Neither of them mention that she’s the wealthy one. Well, they both are technically; when they married she insisted on adding him to her bank account. Not that he’s ever used it. She told him the balance once and he nearly had a heart attack. 

They still have more money than they’ll spend in a lifetime, not even taking their wages into account. Money they intend on leaving to the village of Vignamri once they die. More Congregation money as reparation for the horrific crimes committed the day Alys’ mum was kidnapped.

“We’ve both developed a taste for certain luxuries over the years,” is all Alys says in response as she drops several coins into the jar on the counter. 

“Thank you for your generosity...” she hesitates, not knowing the appropriate title to use. 

“Alys.” He notices she doesn’t bother to use her title and it strikes him as a little odd. 

“Alys. Thank you. You’re far too kind; more generous than any of my other patrons,” she says, lowering her voice. 

“Unfortunately the rich don’t get rich through generosity. Us, on the other hand, have no need for wealth.” 

“You’ll always be welcome in my shop.” 

In his younger years he would have thought that obvious, but it’s not. This shop is in the nice area of the city and is frequented by the nobility. He quickly learned which establishments were ones where he was welcomed even if Alys happened to not be with him and which outright ignored him or made the experience so uncomfortable he refused to return alone. 

Something he’s learning all over again now that they’ve settled into a life spent mostly on land. 

“What a kind woman. Her parents were always very nice to me.”

“Why didn’t you use your title?” 

She takes a sip of her coffee before responding. “I thought it may be best not to have word get out that a doctor and a doctor-in-training are living at port. I don’t mind treating anyone who needs it but I expect you’d rather not have all of New Sérène seeking care at the port.” 

“You think your skills would be in high demand?” 

“Crows charge a fair amount. And I’m more skilled than any crow in the city, and I wouldn’t charge. At least, not those without the means to pay,” she says with a bit of a smirk. 

Hearing her speak confidently of her abilities makes him happy. For a long time after the attack almost a decade ago, she doubted herself. Was convinced she could have done things differently - that it was her fault he was unwell for as long as he was. No amount of reassurance could change her mind; it was something she had to work through herself.

“That is a good point. You aren’t bored in port, are you?” 

She shakes her head. “No, I’m busy teaching, and the pre-boarding exams keep me busy. And I’ve had injuries and chronic ailments to treat. I’m happy, Vasco.” Her hand extends across the table and he takes it in his. 

The bell on the cafe door chimes indicating that another customer has entered. Alys, who is facing the door, looks concerned. “What did Lady Dubois look like?” She whispers. 

“Tall, with brown hair that she kept in a bun. Slightly lighter than your hair. Her cheeks were very pink and she wore heels. Carried a sword.” 

Alys curses and adjusts her hair so it covers her mark before lowering her head. “She looks like her father,” she says quietly, “I had not realized she was his daughter but it makes sense. I saw him at court growing up. He was a prick.” 

He lowers his own head. Lady Dubois orders, chatting politely with the owner. She sits at the next table over, staring hard at him before lifting her cup in acknowledgement. He lifts his tea cup, returning the gesture. 

Alys drains the last of her coffee and he finishes his tea. “Shall we?” She asks and he stands up. “She knows,” she says simply once they’re outside. 

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “It was always going to happen. I’m sorry it’ll end up being a headache for you.” 

***

It’s several weeks before Legate Dubois visits again. During this time tensions escalate in New Sérène. So far the port has been safe but he hopes the Congregation sorts itself out before any of his people get caught in the crossfire. 

She hadn’t arranged their meeting in advance and is displeased when his assistant tells her she needs to wait. “It is most frustrating to spend my day waiting,” she says as she shakes his hand. 

“Funny, I find it more annoying to have politicians at my office door without advance notice. What necessitates such behaviour?” 

He spent the entire morning looking over a ship that was badly damaged on its latest crossing and dealing with the incompetent captain who was the cause of said damage so he’s not feeling particularly willing to excuse passive aggressive bullshit. Not that he ever is, really. 

“I’ve been given approval to arrange a meeting between you and the governor. To negotiate an amendment to our contract.” 

He looks at her. She can hardly meet his eye. There’s an ulterior motive at play. “And aren’t these meetings generally arranged by letter? Why wait around all day to speak with me when you could send a letter or make arrangements with my assistant? I’m not dropping everything to meet with the governor.” 

There will be no more meetings after this one; he’s got a mountain of paperwork to get to and he would rather get home to his wife at a reasonable hour. 

“I thought it would be prudent to brief you beforehand.” 

“On...?”

“The contract.” 

“Lady Dubois, do you think I’m incapable of reading?” 

“Of course not.” She looks at him, the picture of innocence, as if she’s unaware that she’s irritating him. 

“Then I don’t believe I need to be briefed. Rest assured I will have examined the existing contract thoroughly prior to my meeting with the governor. Which you can book with my assistant.” He motions towards the door. 

“The woman you were with at the cafe was drinking coffee.” 

“Well-observed.” 

“Something only the nobility can afford.” 

He’s not going to dance and squirm the way she expects. He simply stares at her blankly, determined to make her as uncomfortable as possible. 

“Almost unrecognizable, she is. Hair down, streaked with grey, and covered in tattoos. But that mark on her face is still there.” 

“Congratulations, Lady Dubois, you managed to spot my wife out in public,” he says dryly, not acknowledging her accusation. 

“Elizabet De Sardet lives. People will be thrilled.” 

“She does not. Elizabet De Sardet died the day my wife joined the Nauts. Furthermore, my wife is not an admiral or any sort of politician. She’s a Naut minding her own damn business and wants nothing to do with politics.” 

“People don’t just get to choose to walk away from their responsibilities.” 

Actually, they do. Especially when the person in question was kidnapped at birth. Alys is not a Congregation citizen and never was as far as they’re both concerned.

“Lady Dubois, you do recognize you are threatening the wife of an admiral, do you not?” 

“I am not,” she says sweetly. 

“Revealing my wife’s identity, opening her up to harassment and trying to force her back into a life she left is a threat, Lady Dubois. I would tread very carefully. You walked in here asking to amend the terms of our contract, putting me in a position of power. I can make things very easy for the Congregation, or very difficult. Don’t fuck with my family,” he says coldly. 

Lady Dubois looks at him somewhat petulantly. “There’s no need for foul language, Admiral Vasco.” 

“I’m a sailor. I’ll swear as much as I fucking want. And if your greatest concern is the words I’m using as opposed to their meaning then apparently I need to start using smaller words.” 

“I understood your meaning perfectly even if I believe you to be overreacting.” 

“You can think whatever you like of me. Point is, I protect my family. Consider your next moves carefully because if my wife is threatened, you will find out very quickly how challenging it will be to have scorned the admiral of Tír Fradí. Understood? Or shall I dumb it down a tad?” 

“Understood, Admiral.” Lady Dubois does not bother to shake his hand as she stands up and leaves. 

Later that day his assistant tells him he has a meeting with the governor next week. “That new legate is a bit of a pain in the ass, Admiral,” Francis says offhandedly. 

“She’s a pain in my ass. Do me a favour and listen around to see if you hear any noise being made about Elizabet De Sardet returning from the dead.”

“Who is that?” Francis looks confused. He’s in his late 20s and sea given - a volunteer from the Bridge Alliance who joined as an adult. Not suited to sailing but remarkably organized and a skilled assistant on land. 

“My wife was once noble. Escaped the life. The legate threatened to reveal her location. And if she does the Congregation will discover the consequences of pissing off an admiral.” 

“And what if this legate sits on the information until a new contract is signed? That’s what many in that world would do.” 

“That is why I’ll be including a clause allowing me to cancel the contract in the event the lives of any Nauts are harmed by a Congregation citizen.” 

“Clever, Admiral Vasco.”

“There are benefits to being married to a woman who was once from that world. I know the dance, much to the shock of the nobility, some of whom appear to be surprised I know how to read.” 

Alys promises to tell him if she encounters any trouble in the next week. In the mean time, he prepares for this meeting. 

“Do you know anything about the governor? Audra Faivre.” 

“Almost nothing. The Faivre family was hit hard by the malichor around the time we left for Tír Fradí. Rumour had been that they were destitute as a result. There’d been a number of children in the family, but I couldn’t tell you who her parents are.”

“Sympathetic to the d’Orsay family?”

“Closely aligned at the time. It is likely the princess knows her well and counts her as an ally.” 

It’s strange returning to the palace and even stranger to be doing so without Alys. He’s armed; basic common sense when walking into a meeting with a stranger. The guards must have been briefed because he’s greeted with surprising warmness and escorted inside. 

The portrait of him and Alys remains where it was when she was the governor. It’s impossibly strange looking upon a life-size image of them from when they were so young. It’s even stranger looking at his wife without the tattoos on her face, hands and arms. 

It’s not the Throne Room he’s brought to but the governor’s private office. Briefly he remembers the time he hid under Alys’ desk, lifted her skirt and pleasured her as she swallowed back her moans to avoid being discovered in such a compromising position. 

It was occasionally fun to live in a palace. 

Governor Faivre stands up and shakes his hand. “Admiral Vasco! A pleasure to meet you at last. Lady Dubois has told me much of you.” 

“It is good to meet you as well.” He may be on his guard but he will be polite until he has reason not to be. 

“The hero of Dorhagenedu an admiral? An inspired choice in leadership,” the governor says. 

So apparently they’re not going to dance around. He can respect that the woman is direct. 

“There were many heroes that day.” It may not have been traumatizing for him the way it was for Alys but he still prefers not to think of it. 

“But only one carried the Legate of the Congregation of Merchants down a mountain.” 

“You know a surprising amount about that conflict.” Little is known about the battle, much of it kept under wraps to avoid further bloodshed. Officially, Constantin died of the malichor and his actions were deemed to be those of an individual and not the Congregation. Alys ensured reparations were paid to their allies and that was the end of it. 

“My family was ravaged by the malichor. I took it upon myself to learn about the hero who saved the continent from it. Your wife is a hero, Admiral.” 

She is, but she’d deny it is for the reasons being stated. “My family is irrelevant to the purpose of our meeting and I’d rather keep my personal life to myself, Your Excellency.” 

“Of course. Being married to a noble turned Naut must make privacy a concern for you. Especially given how prominent her family is. Not to worry, I see no need for the dead to rise again. You will have your privacy as far as this office is concerned.” 

“Then let us move on to the task at hand.” 

Years as a fleet commander and a captain before that has given him a strong sense of the value of the services the Nauts provide. The Congregation, as a nation built through commerce and trading, relies on them particularly heavily. A significant advantage for him. So he names the price of exclusivity. 

“You recognize these people are traitors? To charge this much not to provide them with service!” 

“The additional cost is for the extra work required to verify shipments and identities to the standards you are asking for. Something which, if I am to be honest with you, will be extra work without much benefit for your people.” 

He may be screwing the Nauts out of additional revenue but it will be less of a headache in the long run. And, given that this woman has indicated that Alys’ former identity remains private, he’s not inclined to be anything less than honest with her. 

“Any why is that?” 

“If you were a rebel, would you want to wait four months to receive shipments of much-needed supplies?” 

Her face falls briefly before she recovers and it returns to a mask of neutrality. “I would not.” 

“Nor would they. They’ll be using weapons and other supplies from Hikmet or San Matheus. Or the black market. Plenty of people are willing to sell to the highest bidder with no regard to how their goods are to be used and it is far easier to obtain supplies on the island than it was 25 years ago.” 

“And what about messages from the continent?” 

He shrugs. “Those we could stop with these additional measures, but they’ll find another way to send them. Re-route them through Thélème or the Bridge Alliance. Devise a code to be used in otherwise benign letters sent by agents unknown to you.” 

“So you are here in my office recommending against these proposed amendments?” She smirks at him. “Your lack of experience is clear.” 

“On the contrary, Your Excellency, by urging you not to waste your money, I’m showing myself to be a trustworthy ally. So long as the Congregation does no harm to any of my people, I am happy to work with you to reach mutually agreeable terms of service. You have a rebel problem, yes, but throwing more money at us when you won’t see value in return is not advisable. But, you are the governor, and I’m happy to make the proposed amendments to our contract.” 

“Would you be willing to negotiate on price?” 

“The price I’ve named is the standard cost of such activities. Unless you were looking to greatly increase the use of our services, I could not lower the price.” 

She looks at him, as if trying to peer into his soul and does not speak for several moments. He refuses to allow it to make him uncomfortable. “I’m curious how you would handle the rebels.” 

“I will not answer that. Your politics do not concern me or my people.” 

“How would you deal with a mutiny on your ship?” 

He nods at her in acknowledgement. A clever shift in approach. Still, he’s not willing to get involved. “It’s not for me to discuss private matters pertaining to the Nauts.” 

“So you are declining to provide me with your input on the matter?” 

“As I said, your politics mean nothing to me, so long as no Nauts are caught in the crossfire. To be clear, if any Nauts are harmed in any way by this conflict or by certain outspoken politicians,” he doesn’t give the legate’s name but it’s clear enough who he refers to, “life will be very challenging for the Congregation. A nation that depends heavily on the services the Nauts provide.” 

The governor ignores his proclamation, preferring to focus on his refusal to offer her advice. “Yet you followed a legate around for a year. Married her, even.” 

Admiral Cabral had many reasons for sending him with Alys. Only one of which was her concern about his bitterness affecting his judgement. She saw an opportunity to learn more about Alys, to potentially sway her to return home to them. It was a gamble; she saw his feelings for Alys and must have known there was a chance she’d lose them both, but in the end it was the right move. He committed himself to the Nauts fully and in Alys the Nauts got their first doctor. And now, thanks to her, one day there’ll be a doctor on every Naut ship. 

“Admiral Cabral had her reasons to give me the assignment.” 

“You must have provided Lady De Sardet with advice?” 

“If you’re seeking a Naut to act as an ambassador and work with your legate, I can certainly assign someone. But I will not be providing you with counsel because there’s a big difference between a captain providing input on a situation and an admiral doing so.” 

“Very well. I will consider the cost you’ve proposed as well as your recommendation. Good day, Admiral.” 

He nods his head in acknowledgment. “Good day.” 

As he walks back to the port, a fight breaks out between a group of Congregation soldiers and what he presumes are the rebels. Quickly, he turns down a side street to avoid the skirmish, his hand on the hilt of his sword just in case he needs to defend himself. Unnecessary in the end, as they’re focused completely on their perceived enemies and not the Naut trying to stay out of the way. 

“The governor tells me she’s content not to raise the dead,” he tells Alys that night. 

“So she knew who we were?” She traces the tattoos on his chest absentmindedly and looks up at him. 

“Aye. Recognized me immediately. Ran into a fight as I was making my way back. Things are ugly.” 

“I wonder if it will end in civil war? Was I wrong to intervene all those years ago?” 

“You saved a woman and a child from a life of abuse. You did the right thing. What is happening now is not your fault.” 

“Here I thought we’d escape Congregation politics for good,” she says ruefully. 

“We have... in a way. I still need to deal with it but I’ve declined to offer any input. You, however, can remain completely uninvolved.” 

“How do you think it’ll end?” 

“One side or the other will win. With luck, Celeste will use diplomacy instead of tyranny to come out on top. Suspect it’ll be uglier if she ends up assassinated. Her guard has a trying task ahead of him.” 

“But until then, there’ll be fighting in the streets.” Alys sounds so weary. He hopes this unrest sorts itself out soon. 

“People will always find a reason to fight about something.”


	12. A Family, Imagined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He loves her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

He loves her. Of that he has no doubt. It’s one of the few he knows in this world, having just been laid off by the admiral. But he will do anything about it – he can’t. Not right now. Not while he’s so unsure of who he is. It wouldn’t be fair to her, to try to commit to her when he can’t tell her if he’ll try to re-gain Admiral Cabral’s trust or settle into a life on land.   
  
Another thing he knows is that he misses the sea desperately. The rocking of the waves, the sea salt spray, the sky – all of it. Land is rather awful, and it gets worse the further from the sea they get. Grass and weeds grow wild, making it difficult to walk in places, there are rocks everywhere and if he doesn’t watch it, he risks tripping on a root or some hole dug by an animal.   
  
In short, land is genuinely terrible. But it does have one benefit: Elizabet. As angry as he is with the admiral, he’s pleased to be with her. To fall asleep in her arms every night. The hugs, the kisses on his cheek, the way she traces his tattoos and looks at him as if he is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.   
  
So he’s making the best of it.   
  
***  
  
As a child he often daydreamed about meeting his family. Of being returned to them, back to a life of privilege. Wearing silk instead of polishing ship bridges. A childish dream really, and it gave way to bitterness as he entered his teenage years. His family gave him away; why would they ever want him back? Nobles make him uncomfortable – they’re so frequently rude to him and his brothers and sisters, and reek of privilege. Completely unaware of how good they have it.   
  
That he thought so little of Elizabet at first shames him, especially when she happily sneaks into the office to retrieve his file for him. His name was Leandre d’Arcy. The son of a family known to Elizabet. But he doesn’t want to know about them. His heart aches enough already.   
  
Those daydreams he had as a child, of finding his family and being welcomed home return. As he drifts off, holding Elizabet he dreams of a family he doesn’t know. But sometimes, the shadows he imagines have a face. Elizabet’s face, and he wonders if they could ever be a family. If she could ever build a life with a Naut.   
  
He makes the decision to speak with her about finding his family. With her help, perhaps he can get their address and send them a letter. See how they react.   
  
Elizabet doesn’t say much as the revelations about his brother pile up. That he would be a poor business partner; that he took goods from a merchant and didn’t pay for them. It’s naïve of him but he’s in denial: there must be some explanation for this behavior, some mitigating circumstance that forced him to do this. They find Bastien in time, and Elizabet uses her title and her cousin’s to threaten the thugs. He’d just as soon killed them, personally, but he finds her confidence and her ability to de-escalate conflict using diplomacy rather admirable.   
  
Bastien’s an idiot. Worse than that, a conceited and selfish man. As they’re talking, he thinks of his crew – Flavia and Lauro, who tease him but always means well; Jonas, who listens to everything he has to say and who sees him as a mentor. And he thinks of the admiral, who has taught him so much, and who has been far more patient with him than he truly deserves. This man in front of him isn’t his family. They are. And so he introduces himself as a Naut, because Bastien isn’t his brother. Not in the ways that matter.   
  
He’s spent so many years drowning in regret and bitterness. No more. He’s a Naut and damn proud of it.   
  
Elizabet is honoured to help him complete his loyalty mission. It’s because of her that he’s made peace with his life and discovered who he wants to be, and here she is, hiking to a shipwreck with him. After this he thinks he’ll tell her how he feels. See… if she could love a Naut. If she could accept sharing a life with someone who calls the sea home. He thinks he’ll tell her using the poem he’s read countless times since he met her. The one that makes him think of the two of them. Better to use the beautiful words of another rather than stumble using his own. Because Elizabet De Sardet deserves beautiful words.   
  
On their way back after finding out what happened and dealing with the _nadaig_ , he realizes once more that he’s an idiot. While he knows she cares for him, that she returns his feelings, he’s been unsure of the depth of her commitment. Whether his presence asleep beside her is merely a comfort or something more. But then, as they sit by the fire during a chilly autumn evening, Siora and Kurt in the respective tents, she moves closer and he feels her shiver.   
  
“I’m afraid I won’t be very warm,” he says. He’s not wearing his coat, having taken it off earlier in the day and stashing it in their tent. She’s not wearing hers either.   
  
“You’ll be warm enough,” she responds, wrapping an arm around him and resting her head on his shoulder. Her other hand slides past his open collar and rests on his chest, her cool fingers on his skin making him shiver. “Sorry, I know they’re cold. Does it bother you?”   
  
Touch is the way she expresses her love. How has it taken him so long to realize this? Amongst those she’s closest with, she’s generous with hugs, kisses, and other gentle touches. And for months now, she’s touched him as a lover would. Here she is, practically screaming her love for him and he’s been obtuse to it this whole time.   
  
“Your touches could never bother me, Elizabet.” Her grip on him increases slightly and he pulls her closer. He wonders if this is the moment he should tell her how he feels but, selfishly, he doesn’t want their first time to be in a tent where they have to muffle their moans. He wants to make her scream, to take his time with her and make love in their bed.   
  
“This is my favourite,” she murmurs, more to herself.   
  
“Hmm?”   
  
“Being close to you. I can’t be too bothered by these cold nights because it gives us an excuse to cuddle.”   
  
“You don’t need to be cold to cuddle with me,” he says, turning to give her a kiss on the top of her head.   
  
She doesn’t respond, at least not in words. She straddles him and gently pushes him onto the ground so he’s lying on his back with her on top of him. He wraps his arms around her as she nuzzles her face into his chest, kissing every inch of bare skin she can reach. Briefly he wonders why he’s still wearing clothes and then he remembers: it’s bloody cold out here.   
  
His cock is hard and aching and there is no chance she hasn’t noticed it. But he can’t bring himself to care. Instead he simply holds her tightly and when she falls asleep he gently lifts her up and carries her to bed.   
  
“Vasco?” she says sleepily once he puts her down.   
  
“Just getting us to bed.”   
  
She removes her boots and outer clothes, leaving herself clad in a tunic and her smalls. He strips to his smalls and settles behind her, closing his eyes.   
  
Waking up next to her is one of his favourite small pleasures in life. The way her tunic lifts in her sleep, exposing just a little of her firm stomach and her smalls, which look to be silk and are always a sight all of their own. His cock, already hard, only throbs more as he imagines pulling her smalls down and settling between her legs, feasting on her as she moans in pleasure.   
  
Briefly he feels guilty for imagining such things as she sleeps, but she stirs, grinding against his cock, turning her head back and looking at him with a wicked grin. He groans. “Minx.”   
  
She rolls over and he can feel the dampness of her smalls as she grinds against him once more, whimpering softly. The restraint of last night snaps, and he can’t resist her any longer, Kurt and Siora be damned. Grabbing her ass, he adjusts them so he’s rubbing against her clit and she moans in satisfaction at the change in angle. They don’t need to go all the way – probably don’t even have the time to do so, but he can ensure she starts the day with an orgasm at the very least. Her body stiffens, her eyes closed as she concentrates, trying to find her end and he knows she’s getting close. He can feel his own orgasm building, and he bites his lip, trying to stave it off, wanting her to finish first. When was the last time he did this anyway? Rutted clothed against another until he came in his smalls? He adjusts slightly and she lets out a small moan and clings to him desperately, and he knows he’s found the angle and pressure that will get her off.   
  
“Green Blood?” Kurt’s voice interrupts them and she stills, eyes wide and face flushed.   
  
“Yes, Kurt?” She says, not bothering to hide her frustration.   
  
“Thought we wanted an early start? We have a long way to hike today.”   
  
“Give me ten minutes?”   
  
“Ten minutes. Hurry it up in there.”   
  
“Fuck,” she says quietly enough so only he can hear.   
  
“Indeed.”   
  
“I… suppose we should get dressed,” she says, sounding very unhappy at the prospect.   
  
“I should go... wash up,” he says, the euphemism clear. It’s not as if it’ll take him long to finish at this point.   
  
“I’ll... wash up here.”   
  
He should have expected this would happen he thinks as he throws his clothes on and leaves the tent, muttering to Kurt that he’ll be back in a few minutes. Making his way to the creek, he looks around to ensure he has some privacy before untying his breeches and pulling his cock out. Thinking of their encounter only minutes ago, he strokes himself, imagining the pleasure on her face as he rubbed against her, her little moans; the way she stiffened, telling him she was so close to climax when they were interrupted. He shudders and suppresses a groan when he comes, stroking himself through it before washing up in the creek.   
  
When he returns to camp she’s dismantling their tent, her cheeks flushed and her lips red and he can’t help but imagine her fingers along her slit, dipping into her wetness before rubbing her clit. His cock twitches, despite being spent and he suspects today will be very long indeed. And, judging by the expression on Elizabet’s face and the glares she shoots Kurt’s way when he’s not looking, it’ll be just as long for her.   
  
***  
  
She asks him if he thinks she’d make a good Naut as he’s getting tattooed. Lightly, but he knows her well enough to know it’s a serious question. When she says that perhaps she’ll join him once her missions are complete his heart skips a beat. They can have a life together; she could be his family.   
  
He’s going to tell her how he feels as soon as he’s finished getting tattooed. He’ll take her to the beach near the port, recite the poem and see what happens. Despite knowing that she cares for him and understanding the significance of her touches, he’s nervous. He’s never told someone he loves them before. It’s not an easy thing, being so vulnerable. But he wants to be vulnerable with her. He wants to wake up next to her every morning for the rest of their lives.   
  
The sun is starting to set in the sky when he’s finished. A perfect time of day to tell Elizabet how he feels for her. 


	13. The Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabet and Vasco see cats very differently.

The rocking of the ship is an odd thing and Elizabet finds she can’t get to sleep. It’s their first night at sea and the first night of the rest of her life without Mother. Deep down she knows it’s not the rocking keeping her awake. But it’s a good excuse. 

How long has it been since she went to bed? At least three hours. And she’s still tossing and turning. She considers going back on deck but is unsure if she’d be getting in the way. Annoying Captain Vasco is the last thing she wants to do. The mysterious (and rather handsome) captain hasn’t said a word to her since they’ve boarded. Not that she has any expectation that he would talk to her for anything aside from professional necessity. 

Outside she hears an odd sound. Almost like a cat meowing? That can’t be right but nevertheless she casts a ball of light and opens the door to her quarters to check. A flash of orange dashes by her and into the cabin. She closes the door and moves the ball of light around the room to find that it was, in fact, a cat making the ruckus outside. A rather large orange cat who appears to be frightened, given how puffed-up his tail is. 

“Are you a little stowaway?” She coos as she crouches down. “We better not let Captain Vasco find you. He’d get angry an extra passenger snuck aboard.” Slowly the cat inches towards her and she extends her hand, allowing the cat to rub against it. 

She doesn’t have anything the cat can eat and she feels badly about it. “I can give you some meat from my breakfast in the morning,” she tells the cat. More for herself than anything; she’s well aware the creature can’t understand a word she says. 

The cat - a he, from the looks of it, starts rubbing against her knees. For several minutes she indulges the cat before standing up to get back into bed. The cat joins her and, to her great amusement, invites himself underneath the covers.

“You have a lot of nerve,” she tells the cat, but with no real heat to her words. He settles against her stomach and she gives him another quick pet. “Goodnight Sorbet,” she says, giving the cat the first suitable name that comes to mind. Because all cats need a name and his fur reminds her of the orange sorbet the cooks used to make. 

When she was little, Mother brought home a kitten. Her long fur was pure white so she quickly named her Daisy, after the white flowers on the dining room table. Mother had insisted that Daisy was not the responsibility of the serving staff so she was the one who fed her and brought her out into the garden to relieve herself - much to the ongoing consternation of the gardener. 

Mother probably paid the gardener a bonus for the trouble her daughter’s cat caused, in retrospect. 

Daisy was a lovely cat with a gentle temperament and was incredibly patient with her young caregiver. The cat tolerated being dressed in the outfits meant for her dolls and enjoyed being carried around their wing of the palace. 

Two years ago she lost Daisy. Not a surprising thing; she was very old and had been ill for some time. But it was shortly after Mother’s diagnosis and the loss devastated her in a way nobody else in the palace could understand. Save for Mother. Their butler, Gerrard, had tasked one of the footmen with finding a new cat for her down at the port and brought home a young kitten. A very kind attempt to cheer her up. But the little cat wasn’t Daisy and she wasn’t ready for a new companion so she gave the kitten to one of the servants, asking her to give the cat to her children, promising to pay for his care. 

But tonight she thinks she might be ready to bring another cat home. If Captain Vasco discovers the stowaway she’ll promise to take responsibility for him and bring him with her when they disembark. With Sorbet settled against her, she’s finally able to relax and get to sleep. 

The next morning she saves some of the salt pork from breakfast and brings it to Sorbet who eats it with an excitement salt pork certainly doesn’t warrant. He must have been hungry. 

At first she’d thought to keep Sorbet in her quarters but realized quickly that wouldn’t work. So she lets him out, hoping he knows enough to remain discreet. And he seems to; there’s no commotion about a smuggled cat aboard. Every night he meows at her door and she lets him in, where he settles under the covers against her belly. 

“Has anyone seen Philbert?” She hears Captain Vasco holler at the crew two weeks into the voyage. Crew member skiving off work, then? 

“Haven’t seen him,” Lauro shouts in response. 

“Bloody Philbert,” she hears Vasco grumble. “If he fell overboard he’s cursed the entire damned ship.” 

Surely a member of the crew wouldn’t have fallen overboard? They have arranged to meet for their second constellation and alchemy lesson tonight so she will have to ask him. 

Sorbet never showed up to grab the piece of meat she’d saved for him from her dinner so it remains in her pocket when her and Vasco meet on deck. They sit down, opting to start with an alchemy lesson while they wait for the sun to set completely. 

“Very high and even heat is needed when brewing a health potion. Too little heat and the chemical reaction that combines the ingredients doesn’t take place. But care is needed; leave it on the burner too long and it becomes completely ineffective.” He watches her as she speaks, completely focused on her lesson and, despite her outward aura of professionalism, she’s near giddy with excitement. 

Yesterday he apologized for his rudeness when they first met. Told her nobility makes him uncomfortable, a notion she understands completely. Nobles can be tiresome and, despite a lifetime in the palace, she’s frequently terribly uncomfortable with it herself. While still professional with her, slowly she’s starting to see more warmth from him. From watching him at work, she can see his bluntness and sharp tongue on display frequently, but any frustration he feels with individual crew members never seems to last. He can be chewing out someone in the morning only to be ribbing them at dinner that evening. 

It’s carefully hidden, the warmth. Not out of shame, necessarily. But, for some reason he’s built walls up and as she gets to know him better, she hopes to chip them away. To see the man he keeps hidden. 

Sorbet chooses this very inopportune moment to jump on her lap in search of his dinner. Shit. So much for keeping the stowaway hidden. Frantically she reaches into her pocket, and offers Sorbet the meat she’d saved for him. He takes it from her fingers and runs off, clearly aware that he needs to hide from the captain. 

Vasco looks mystified. Not angry, but confused. “You’ve... been feeding Philbert?” 

“Who is Philbert? I haven’t been giving food to the crew. Just to Sorbet. I have some dried fruit in my quarters if the crew would like some...” 

“The cat. Philbert.” 

“I hadn’t realized he had a name,” she stammers, “I thought he was a stowaway. I was afraid you’d get angry if you found him so I’ve been feeding him and meant to bring him with me when we disembarked.” 

“He’s our mouser. Definitely not a stowaway. We thought he’d fallen overboard. How long have you been feeding him?” 

“Since the first night.” 

“No wonder the mice are getting so damned bold,” he grumbles. “Would you please stop feeding him? It’s making him lazy.” 

She winces. “Sorry.” 

“What the hell is ‘Sorbet’ anyway?” 

“Crushed ice mixed with sugar and puréed fruit.”

Vasco snorts. “Far too fancy a thing to name a cat after. Next you’ll want to put a bow on him.” 

...Daisy frequently wore a bow. Mother even commissioned a portrait of her holding Daisy in which Daisy wore a bright pink bow that matched the one in her own hair. The completed portrait was placed in Mother’s room and frequently she’d catch Mother staring at it. As if remembering when her daughter was still a little girl. A habit maintained even after the malichor stole her vision. 

“You wanted to put a bow on him,” Vasco says bluntly, interrupting her thoughts. 

“I thought he would have looked quite distinguished with a little bow around his neck. Like a gentleman!” 

He stares at her blankly. “He’s a cat. His job is to kill mice that carry disease. Not to sit around looking distinguished.” 

Vasco is so baffled by her treatment of Sorbet or - Philbert, that her face reddens and she quickly returns to their lesson, hoping he forgets about the entire exchange. 

Philbert cries pitifully when she refuses to give him leftovers from her meals, but still comes around at night, meowing to be let into her quarters. And so she lets him in and he continues to sleep in bed with her. At least, until she starts spending the night with Vasco in his quarters. 

It takes Philbert a surprisingly long time to track her down. Or - perhaps he was reluctant to cry at the captain’s door. One night she hears the familiar meow at Vasco’s door as she lies nestled in his arms. 

“Get back to work, Philbert!” Vasco calls out. The crying persists. 

“He wants to come cuddle with us, Love.” 

“Cats hunt at night. Give him a few minutes and he’ll go off to catch his dinner.” 

“You don’t seem to like cats.” 

“On the contrary, I like them a great deal. They’re damn useful to have on a ship and they’re intelligent animals. Philbert’s friendly and frequently sits beside me when I’m at the helm. But, like all crew members, he has a job to do and I expect him to do it.” 

Philbert continues to cry at the door. “It wouldn’t hurt to let him come to bed with us. He can hunt in the morning.” 

Vasco sighs. “We’re going to need a second mouser. You’ve made our current one soft,” he says as he stands up and opens the door. “Well, our dear Elizabet has spoken and insists you join us,” he says to Philbert, who walks into the room and jumps onto the bed. 

“Foot of the bed, Philbert,” Vasco says as he gets back into bed. The cat ignores him and starts pawing at the edge of the blanket, demanding to be let under the covers. 

She lifts the covers and Philbert settles under them. Vasco just chuckles ruefully in response. “I’m not getting him out of there am I?” 

“He likes sleeping under the covers.” 

Vasco wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her against his chest. “I imagine cats in noble households were not expected to work for their dinner? Did they get their own beds?” 

“My childhood cat, Daisy, was never expected to work. She was a companion animal. Slept in bed with me most nights too. None of your mousers shared your bed?” 

“Philbert has a pile of blankets down in the hold. Not that they’ll ever see any use again, the spoiled bastard.” 

“You might find you’ll like the company.” She can’t bring herself to add ‘after I’ve left’. In two more weeks she’ll leave the Sea Horse and it’s unlikely she’ll ever see Vasco again. A thought that breaks her heart whenever she thinks about it. 

The thought of Vasco having Philbert for company is a small comfort. 

“Yes... perhaps I will,” Vasco says, his voice cracking almost imperceptibly as he speaks. “Might even give him something off my plate once in awhile. Provided he’s doing his job properly.” 

“You should buy him a little bow to wear around his neck.” She’s not actually serious; she just doesn’t want to think about saying goodbye to the man holding her. The man she loves. 

“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cats have a long history of acting as mousers on ships. There was a superstition that if a cat fell overboard, it would bring about a terrible storm and nine years of bad luck for the ship, hence Vasco grumbling about how Philbert cursed them when he thought the cat had fallen overboard.


	14. A Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vasco ponders the family he has.

For so long he imagined what it would look like to be a part of a family. To have a mother and a father. And then he made peace with his life and his family and he found he didn’t need to imagine the mysterious set of people he once thought he belonged with.

They’ve visited Elizabet’s aunt a few times now. That she’s welcomed him so openly has been surprisingly moving. Slàn finds his life to be a deeply curious thing. He’s told her about what life is like at sea, stories of many of the voyages he’s been on and she’s listened, completely enraptured by his words. 

“How did you become a Naut?” New ground for them to tread on; in their many conversations she’s never asked this. Perhaps she recognizes it as a pain point? 

“I was given to the Nauts by my parents to fulfil the terms of a contract. I’ve been with them since I was an infant.”

Slàn’s face falls and she looks horrified by the concept. “They gave you away? Why? Who raised you? Who was your mother?” Her questions come at a rapid fire pace; she’s upset, not at him, but at his fate. 

“I suspect my parents had little choice. Prince d’Orsay ordered it and likely wiped any debt they carried in exchange. On the island we were cared for by a few different caregivers. I would have had a wet nurse - all Sea Born and infant Sea Given do. But no mother and no father.” 

Wide eyes stare back at him as she realizes what he’s telling her. “The Nauts are my family,” he clarifies. 

“You grew up with no mother.” 

He shakes his head. “I’ve never known what it is like to have one. There have been several people who’ve acted as mentors to me in my life, but none I think of as a parent.” Mostly he thinks of Admiral Cabral, who taught him how to fight properly when she saw him getting the shit kicked out of him. Who tolerated his anger and his bitterness. And who had the wisdom to send him with Elizabet, hoping he’d return home having made peace with his fate, hand-in-hand with a lost Sea Born. But she’s a mentor. Not a mother. 

Elizabet returns to the campfire and sits next to him. The conversation drifts and he puts it in the back of his mind. 

It’s subtle but he notices a bit of a change in his relationship with Slàn. There’s just a little more affection than before and she starts teaching him how to cook with the various herbs found on the island. Many of her lessons are things Siora taught him awhile ago but he doesn’t tell her this; instead he listens attentively and asks her questions. 

“It will be good for you to know this. I’ve noticed Elizabet cannot cook.” 

Vasco chuckles. “No, she cannot. She nearly burned the apartment down once. Grease fire - luckily I was able to smother it.” 

The next day he hears her loudly arguing with another villager - an elder. His Yecht Fradí is improving, but he’s far from fluent, though it almost sounds as if she’s arguing about him? 

He turns to Elizabet who shrugs. “Think the elder might object to your presence. But don’t worry, _Modryb_ Slàn appears to be putting him in his place.” 

It’s uncomfortable overhearing an argument about him, even if he cannot understand every word being exchanged so he stands up to go elsewhere when Slàn whips her head around to catch his eye. “Stay, Vasco,” she says as the elder looks gobsmacked. 

Slàn says something firmly to the man and shoos him away. What precisely she said he couldn’t make out. “Do you know what that meant?” He asks Elizabet who shakes her head. 

Once she’s seated he sees that Slàn is fuming. “What was that all about?” Elizabet asks. 

“Prejudice. He is a fool.” 

But he understands the man’s concerns about him. His people were involved in Arelwin’s kidnapping and that man was likely a survivor of the battle that ensued in an attempt to rescue her. “I don’t begrudge him for distrusting me,” he says. 

“You are a member of this clan through bonding. He has been reminded of this. I will not allow him to question your presence again.” 

It’s not the last time he’s looked at sideways. And despite his protests and his reassurances that he does understand the concerns some may have about him, Slàn speaks up in his defence. Every single time, with a firmness and vehemence that touches him. 

“You don’t need to defend me. In time they will see I mean no harm,” he tells her. 

It was the wrong thing to say because she turns to look at him with surprising sternness. “I would fail as a _Modryb_ if I did not stand up for my little ones. Even though my little ones are grown,” she says, as if she is baffled that he does not understand this. 

And in a way, he didn’t understand it, he supposes. Nauts take care of their own, but this level of care and protection is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. He finds himself struck with emotion and unable to speak; he nods rather dumbly and she opens her arms in invitation, one he gladly accepts. Elizabet walks into the cabin to find him clinging to Slàn, accepting something from her that he thought he’d made peace with never having and she smiles at him. Immediately understanding the significance of the moment. 

Never again does he imagine shadowy figures of unknown parents when he thinks of what could have been. No, he’s a part of two families now - the Nauts, and his wife’s family in the village of Vignamri. 

And, for the first time he has a mother in all but name.


	15. In the Days After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovering from a horrible attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: description of medical procedures/recovering from serious injury, and anxiety/PTSD. 
> 
> NSFW

To say being shot is unpleasant is an understatement. He’s had it happen twice and Vasco can say with complete certainty that he does not recommend the experience. 

It hurts. It really fucking hurts. The sun is low in the sky indicating that it’s still early morning. Alys sleeps beside him and he doesn’t dare wake her up. She’s having a hard time - quite understandably and needs the rest. 

The potion he took just before going to sleep has worn off. So his head is clear, but his chest and torso feel terrible. If he’s completely still it’s just throbbing pain and soreness around the wounds. And aching from the broken ribs and bruises. But if he’s stupid enough to move, shooting pain takes his breath away. 

But at least he can think. And see. And he’s awake and alert. To be honest, the potions aren’t doing that much in terms of pain relief. They help a little, but mostly they have the handy side effect of simply taking away his ability to give a shit about the pain. 

He’s thought periodically about getting shot as a teenager and how he recovered without any potions to relieve the pain he was in. The medic just handed him a bottle of liquor. Granted, he had several more bullets pulled from him this time around but as unpleasant as it is to be so out of it, it beats relying on liquor. Most of the time, anyway. 

Alys visited his would-be killer yesterday. He knew she would at some point. What amazes him is that the man is still alive. Were it her lying in this bed the man would have died yesterday. By his hand, of course. He’s known her long enough to know she’s protective. Over-protective at times. And she’s threatened the lives of more than one person foolish enough to threaten or hurt someone she loves. 

The only reason she didn’t was the order he gave. An order he gave before the man shot him full of lead. If he wasn’t busy bleeding out all over the deck he’d have rescinded the order. Told her to do what she felt was appropriate with the man. 

She’d have killed him. He knows that. But now she won’t because it’s what the man wants. The man wants to die knowing he drove a good woman to murder. That he broke her. Alys may not be quite as stubborn as he is but she will not let that man win. So he lives. At least until he stands trial and is executed for his crimes. 

He moves - stupid; and bites the inside of his cheek to suppress a flurry of curses. Can’t wake Alys up. Not yet. He tries to take a deep breath but can’t. Probably because of the metal in his chest (what is that for?) and he thinks Alys might have said something about pulling a bullet from his lung. It’s hard to remember shit when you’re kept under the influence of pain meds consistently. Everything hurts but he might actually remember this morning. Not that there’s anything worth remembering thus far. 

Alys’ eyes open and eyes blue as the sea near the shore meet his own golden ones. Fifteen years and she’s still as beautiful to him as she was when they first met. But she’s worried to see that he’s awake. 

“Have you been up long?” 

“A few minutes,” he responds. Not strictly true; it’s been closer to an hour but if she knew that she’d chide him for not waking her up. And she needs to rest, same as him. 

“Are you in pain?” 

“Yes.” He can’t lie about that. It’s becoming unbearable this morning if he’s honest with himself. And even if he tried to lie to her she knows how to read him better than anyone. That she asked was more a courtesy than anything; she would have known immediately that he’s not feeling well. 

Without another word she swings her legs off the cot she was sleeping on and wanders to her cabinet, returning with a potion. Once he takes it, he has about fifteen minutes of lucidity before it kicks in and he’s useless to the world. Sometimes it’s awhile before it makes him groggy and he can chat with her or any of the various people who’ve stopped in to make sure he’s not dead. But he suspects he doesn’t make a whole lot of sense and can’t actually remember the conversations he’s had. Or who he’s had them with. Just that he talked before the potion knocked him out. And he can remember feelings. He could tell Alys was panicked yesterday. That stuck with him, at least. 

She hands it to him and he holds the bottle in his hands. He really doesn’t want to take it. He wants to talk to his wife. To have breakfast with her and pretend everything is normal. Not that he’s eating much; he’s had no appetite and has been nauseous. A few spoonfuls of broth or rice are about all he can handle right now. 

“You need to take it. I can tell you’re not feeling well,” Alys says as she rests a hand on his arm. 

“Can we talk?” 

“Once you take it we can talk until you feel sleepy. I have some dried fruit here that you can try for breakfast too.” 

Dried fruit is a big step above soup and rice. He’s not hungry but he can probably manage a little. Another sudden shooting pain near his ribs breaks down the last of his resolve and he tosses the potion back. She takes the bottle and gives him a dried orange slice. 

“Couldn’t start with this? Had to make me eat broth and rice?” He says before putting the orange slice in his mouth. 

“They’re easier to digest. Needed to see how your digestive system was working. But everything seems... mostly fine. Your lack of appetite concerns me, but that’s not unusual with the trauma your body has endured.” 

He’s probably going to need her to explain this to him at least three more times on account of being drugged all the time. 

“Have we had this conversation before?” 

“We did - yesterday.” 

“Sorry.” 

She looks emotional, her eyes are blinking rapidly and she looks up at the ceiling. “There is no need to apologize for anything. I know it’s not easy to remember things when you’re as sick as you are.” 

He stretches his hand out and she gives him another dried slice of fruit. Pineapple, he thinks. He eats it. Eating much more is a near impossible prospect but Alys is worried. And maybe eating a second piece of fruit will ease her worries. 

She doesn’t look any less worried. And now the room is spinning and he can no longer see clearly. Has it really been fifteen minutes?

She cups his cheek gently and helps him lay his head back on the pillow. “Get some rest. It’s hit you and I can tell you’re feeling dizzy.” 

He doesn’t want to be alone. If that man escapes he is defenceless. “Don’ leave?”

“I’m not leaving your side. I promise.” 

Magic courses through his body. Long familiar by now - it’s warm and he can feel a tingling sensation as it moves through him. She’s checking on him. It doesn’t hurt which means she’s not trying to heal. Normally she warns him if she’s going to do something that’ll hurt. Right now she’s just making sure he’s not any closer to death than he was the last time she checked. “Good?”

“As well as can be expected.” But not ‘good’, he notices. Can’t be surprised; he feels like he’s been dragged behind a ship so his insides are almost certainly a mess. 

“How is your pain?” 

“Hurts but I don’t care,” he mutters. Talking is difficult right now, as if his mouth is unable to form the words in his head. 

Her magic courses through him again. Not warm, but cool. The sort that numbs. The pain disappears. “That should help for a bit, Love. At least let you get some more sleep.” 

If he didn’t love her before this, he’d love her now as a result of that spell and the few minutes of relief it provides. “Love you,” he says, hoping he sounds properly grateful. 

“I love you too.” 

As promised, she’s by his side when he wakes up. He tries to look at the porthole to get a sense of his long he’s been asleep. Not having a sense of time passing is a surprising annoyance. But he can’t see clearly enough. 

“You slept for about three hours, Vasco.” Has he asked her this before? He can’t remember. 

Warm magic floods his body only to stop abruptly. Her breath hitches. “I need to do some healing on you. It’s going to hurt, would you like a sleeping potion?” Her voice is calm. Too calm. The tone she uses when she’s hiding that she’s on the verge of a panic attack. 

No, he would not like a damn sleeping potion. As it is he’s asleep most of the time. It’s bloody frustrating. And he was out three days the last time he took one. What if that happens again? What if he doesn’t wake up?

“I’m fine,” he says tersely instead of the tirade he had been preparing. Too tired to say so many words. 

She stands up, returning with a potion. But instead of giving it to him she uncorks and places it on the side table. So a magic potion for her, then. The cool magic he now associates with the blessed relief of numbness washes over him. He can just barely feel whatever healing she’s doing. 

Removing one hand from his body but maintaining the spell, she drinks the potion. Now he’s starting to feel it. Numbness never lasts long. Especially if she’s healing at the same time. He tries not to react as she works and his body protests. 

Alys notices and numbs him again before standing up to grab another potion for herself. “Sorry. I hadn’t realized it would take as long as it is taking. Almost done.” 

Which means whatever she found was worse than she thought. This is the second magic potion she’s taken in the span of - 20 minutes? Too many and she becomes sick. Jittery hands, racing heart, and dizziness. “Don’t take too many,” he says. 

“I need to fix this and I’ll do what I must,” she says firmly before returning her hands to his body. 

“What’s wrong?” She must have spent hours fixing what the bullets broke the day he was shot. That this is so urgent is baffling. 

“You’re bleeding. Need to repair the blood vessels that opened back up. And there’s a fair bit of swelling in the area I’m working on. If I don’t address it now I’m afraid it will start to fester.” 

“Lucky you can look inside me and find that,” he says in response. 

The few times he’s had to assist her during surgeries he’s been a little horrified to see the inside of a body. She’s shown him drawings from her textbooks before. That she can look inside a person using her magic so easily and see what’s wrong is a skill that’s always amazed him. 

By the time she’s finished the numbness is wearing off again. She stands up and walks to her cabinet for a third time. Returns empty-handed which means she’s taken a third potion but doesn’t want him to know about it. Cool magic numbs him once more. He feels her hands shaking as she does it. 

“Tempest, lie down with me.” 

“Can’t sleep. Have to watch you for a bit. It’s not easy on the body to endure as much as you have these last few days. I need to make sure you remain stable after what I’ve done just now.” 

She won’t let him die. He knows that and trusts her. But to keep him alive she’ll run herself ragged. 

“Watch me lying down?” She’s taken too much and must be dizzy. He doesn’t want her to fall over or pass out. 

She sighs but lies down on the cot next to him. Rests her shaking hand on his arm. He should talk to her about how she’s pushing herself too hard, that she’s ignoring her own limits and that he probably would have managed with a healing potion but he’s too damn tired. “Simon’ll talk to her.”

“Sorry?” 

Did he say that out loud? It’s so difficult to think. He mutters something in response. Maybe just a string of sounds. She pats him on the arm and he closes his eyes, mentally reminding himself that he will wake up again. 

“You can’t keep this up,” a hushed whisper wakes him up. 

“I don’t have a choice,” Alys’ voice, firm and obstinate in a way he rarely hears from her. 

“Doctor Alys, of course you do. You’re pushing yourself to exhaustion every single day. You can’t fix everything at once. Please let us help you.” Simon’s noticed that she’s overdoing it, apparently.

“I’ll manage. In a week or two I shouldn’t need to do this.” 

He doesn’t want them to know he’s awake. They’ll stop talking and Alys will fuss over him and Simon’s attempt to get through to her will not work. But the potion has worn off and the pain is intense and taking his breath away, making it difficult to maintain the illusion that he’s asleep. 

“You know he’d worry if he knew,” Simon speaks to her with gentle compassion. 

“I am doing what I need to. Please, let me care for my husband,” her voice is hollow and distant. The voice she uses when she’s compartmentalizing.

Simon sighs in response. “If he wasn’t as unwell as he is I’d tell him what you’re doing to yourself. He’d be upset.” 

“Better upset with me and alive than the alternative.” 

It becomes too much and he tries to adjust, grimacing as he does so. Alys notices immediately. “He’s not feeling well. Get me a potion, Simon and I’ll wake him up.”

At least she hasn’t noticed he’s already awake. She runs her fingers through his hair. “Love?” He opens his eyes to look at her. Her hands still shake and her face has the distinct pallor it adopts when she’s really overdone it with her magic. She’s exhausted herself. Still, she smiles; the sort of smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“Morning.” 

“It’s late afternoon.” Simon hands him a potion. “Once you take this I can help you eat some more.” 

The idea of more food is revolting and his expression must show that. “You need to eat, at least a little,” she says firmly. 

Must he remain drugged the rest of the day? “Something weaker?” 

“It won’t help. Not in your current state.” 

Briefly he considers just... not taking it. Gritting his teeth through this. “I know it’s unpleasant but you’ll recover more quickly and it will be easier.” Apparently she could tell what he’s thinking. 

Fine. He’ll take the damn potion, eat and drink enough to keep Alys from worrying and then he’ll talk to her about how she’s overdoing it. Ask her to try to take a break. 

Fifteen minutes. He gets fifteen minutes before he’s useless. Alys spoons some broth into his mouth and helps him drink a glass of water. She talks to him.

“Do you remember our first time out in the woods together? You hated it, but you tried to hide it. I remember overhearing you curse at a tree branch after tripping over it. I felt out of place too; though not nearly to the extent you did, of course.”

He looks up at her and smiles, wordlessly encouraging her to keep talking.

“And then there was the time we got home late after hunting for Egon. You were so tired after that but the fact that you came out and helped Kurt and I meant a great deal to me. So I wanted to surprise you with breakfast. Judy was off that morning so I was on my own and I’m not sure how I did it but I set fire to the pan. But you swept in like the hero you are, smothering the flames and keeping me from burning down the apartment. Instead of getting angry with me over my incompetence, you laughed with me. So hard we both ended up crying and once I cleaned up the mess I made I took you out for breakfast because I discovered I can’t cook for you but I can take you out for a nice meal.” 

As she talks she helps him eat. His appetite is still non-existent but he’s trying. For her because she’s scared and pushing herself far too hard. 

“Do you ever think about the second time we ever kissed? I do. All of the time. It was so perfect, Vasco; I love that you took me to the beach to tell me how you felt. Until I got to know you I thought romance only existed in the stories I read as a child. But now I know it’s real.” 

He hasn’t been saying much in response; instead focusing on conserving his energy to talk to her once he’s finished eating. 

Only... he can’t remember. There was something he was going to tell her. But his mind isn’t working properly and he’s not sure what it was. Just that he thought it was important. “Was going to tell you something,” he mumbles. 

She leans down and kisses his forehead. “It’ll come back to you. Close your eyes and rest.” 

He does and he sighs in relief as she numbs him. “Thank you,” he tells her. She doesn’t respond but takes his hand and squeezes it. 

As he falls asleep he notices that her hands are shaking and her fingers are clammy. 

***

It’s been just over a week and he can hardly remember a thing. He’s had enough of being sleepy, groggy and useless all of the time and the fear of being attacked again is overwhelming. 

So he’s just... done with taking the potions Alys is trying to ply him with. He endured this type of recovery without much of anything as a teenager and he can do it again. But time (and some youthful arrogance) has dampened the memories of just how unpleasant this feels. While he can see and think without the fog of the potions hovering over him, it’s difficult to think of anything aside from how much it fucking hurts. 

They’re in the process of docking on their island. To drop off the murderer, the ship’s cargo and load more food and water. To distract himself, he runs through the tasks required to bring a ship to port. Which only reminds him that he’s completely useless right now. 

“I should be helping out there,” he mutters. 

Alys’ patience is running thin with him. He gets it; he recognizes he has a stubborn streak and has been temperamental, especially in the last two days. She probably fantasizes about strangling him right now. He’d probably strangle himself in her shoes. Or threaten it at the very least.

But if he grits his teeth and just pushes hard enough, perhaps he’ll feel better. Or at least, get used to how badly he feels right now. 

It’ll be good for her to get a break from him. To talk to someone that isn’t him or involved in tending to him. He feels a stab of guilt before she leaves; he can tell she’s trying to fend off a panic attack. His fault. 

The water is choppier than it has been over the last week. So he thinks anyway; he’s been unconscious or drugged most of the time. Every little movement of the ship shifts him, forcing him to brace himself, irritating his injuries. Going to be a long afternoon, he thinks as he closes his eyes and tries desperately to get some sleep. 

The sound of the door opening wakes him up. It’s not just Alys but the purveyor of the alchemy shop nearest to the port - Hans. Alys has become good friends with him and they’ve had dinner with him and his husband before. 

Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen, her cheeks puffy. The panic attack she’s been trying to ward off hit her, but she’s trying to hide it. Hans sends her off and sits down next to him. 

“She picked up lunch. Shall I help you up?” He says, sounding deceptively casual. The man sent Alys off for a reason and it’s very clear to them both that he’s stuck here. Can’t exactly run away while recovering from half a dozen fresh bullet holes. 

Vasco nods. He does like the man, though he does not know him nearly as well as Alys does. But from what she’s told him, Hans can be almost... fatherly with her. The way Petrus frequently was back in the day and still is on the rare occasions they see him. 

Hans helps him up, the movement aggravating his injuries, and he curses up a storm through the process. Hans sits back down, eyebrow raised. “Must say I’m surprised to see you so alert. But I think I now know how you’re being a pain in her ass. You look like shit.” 

“I’m well aware,” he grumbles. 

“Have you considered not being a pain in the ass?” 

“I’m fine.” No he isn’t. Not even close. But Hans doesn’t need to know that. 

Of course he doesn’t buy it. He just laughs at him. “You’re just as stubborn as my husband,” he gives him a look before his expression softens. “Go easy on her. It’s tough and she’s worn herself out.” 

“Simon’s tried talking to her. I’ve... encouraged her to take time away. To take breaks.” He thought that his encouragement was working - her hands no longer shake and her skin is no longer clammy; the telltale signs she’s overdosed on magic potions and run herself ragged. 

“Wasn’t talking just about physically. I think I’ve gotten through to her. Took a bit of convincing. Don’t envy you for what you’re going through. To be honest I doubt I’ve seen sailors survive injuries much worse than yours. Be a long time before you’re recovered. She knows that. But she’s treated this process as a sprint and not a marathon, and she’s still running. Will continue running until she drops dead if she sees need to. Help her stop and take a breath. And listen to her, would you? She’s smart. Knows what she’s doing.” 

In his past interactions with Hans he’s come to the conclusion that the man’s personality is an interesting blend of his and Alys’. Alys remains diplomatic - always will be, he suspects. She’s gentle and even when she’s mad, she is cautious in how she expresses it. Every word is carefully chosen. And him? Well he’s blunt. Kind of an asshole sometimes. Hans manages to get to the heart of a matter without rubbing people the wrong way. 

He’s half-tempted to suggest Hans try his hand at politics. “A far gentler lecture than I was expecting when you kicked her out.” 

“If I chewed you out properly, would you have listened to me?” 

“Point taken.” 

“How would you normally comfort her?” 

Usually an easy answer: touch. That’s how she shows her love. And how he shows his love for her. Any other time when she’s hurting he’d scoop her up into his arms and hold her. Kiss every inch of her that he could. But not now. “Can’t exactly cuddle in my current state.” 

“Be creative. Find a way. But... don’t tell her I told you so. Going to track her down and give her a hug. Next time you two are here we’ll all have dinner.”

Alys returns to the infirmary. For awhile their conversation is light and he eats a full meal for the first time since the attack. She looks relieved to see it. 

But the cracks show themselves when he learns precisely what lecture she received from Hans. She’s stepping away and having Simon take over his day-to-day care. His wife, who has yet to go more than a few hours without using her magic to make sure he’s not about to keel over is handing control to another. 

It’ll be torture for her. But she explains that her judgement is compromised and it makes sense. She’s good at compartmentalizing but can only do so for so long. And right now the events of that day are hitting her. Hard. The pain on her face is raw; she’s on the verge of another panic attack. 

Taking Hans’ advice he asks her to lie down with him so he can hold her. Already he can feel his body acting up as he shifts. But it hurts anyway, why not hurt with his wife in his arms? 

Alys doesn’t like it when he tells her that. But she helps him lie down and settles next to him. It feels right. Almost like it’s a normal day and not that he’s a week removed from hanging on the precipice between life and death. 

The thoughts running through his mind when it’s quiet are still there. Fears of being attacked while vulnerable. Unable to protect himself. Alys gets a pistol out of her cabinet and places it on the table next to her. 

His wife will protect him. She’s good at that. Not just keeping him alive but keeping him safe. He trusts her above anyone else in this world. Knowing that she’s armed, that she’ll fight anyone who threatens him is reassuring and he takes the damn potion Simon’s plying on him as she sits beside him holding his hand.

Fifteen minutes before he’s unable to function properly. Alys apologizes for losing her patience. Unnecessary; she should probably get annoyed with him more frequently. Most people do. For as long as she’s known him he’s been a difficult patient. Too damn stubborn for his own good. Makes for a good sailor but a terrible patient. 

Maybe it’s the potion taking effect, but the flurry of emotions he’s felt all day are catching up to him. He’s overwhelmed. He wants his wife. Not just sitting on the cot beside him holding his hand, but in his arms. But to express what he’s feeling; the dread, anxiety, the need for normalcy is beyond him at the moment. It’ll be a good day when he can stop taking these horrible potions. 

Instead of words he uses a gesture. Opens his arm. Alys moves closer and rests her head on his shoulder. Gives him a small, reassuring smile. She gets it. 

As he closes his eyes, he thinks that it isn’t normal. And it won’t be for a long time. But with the warm weight of her body so close, perhaps he can pretend for a few hours. 

***

Moving without pain is near impossible. His torso is covered in fresh scars of varying sizes and he can feel the thick scar tissue underneath his skin. How will he ever fight again if the stiffness becomes permanent? 

“Once we get to Vignamri I can see about reducing the scar tissue, giving you your range of motion back,” Alys says as she massages the scars. A long process she’s undertaken every evening once Simon deemed him well enough for this. 

“Why does it burn underneath my skin?” There’s a near-constant burning sensation near one of the scars, as if boiling water was poured into him. 

“Damaged nerves. I did what I could but had to reserve my energy for injuries that were immediately life threatening. By the time I was able to address it, it was too late to do much.” 

“So I’m stuck with it?” 

“I hope not. Just two more weeks and we’ll land in New Sérène.” 

Her fingers press deep and firmly into his skin and he winces as it hurts more than it has any right to. He breathes heavily and feels sweat on his brow; he’s hot. Too hot. Her fingers leave his body and cool magic takes their place, numbing him. 

“Love I’m sorry. I should have done that first. That area hurts you too.” 

“Felt like you took a knife to me.” 

Her face falls. “There’s so much more I should have done that day. I was so focused on trying to stop the bleeding as we rowed back; if I’d eased up sooner I would have been able to do more to heal all of the nerve damage... I’d wanted to be certain I’d stopped the bleeding but if I’d just trusted myself instead of pushing too hard!” She speaks quickly; anger and frustration aimed at herself. 

“Alys.” 

“If I’d just given you a health potion that day! You were still awake when we got to the infirmary. But I was worried about the potion trapping the bullets inside your body, forcing me to cause more damage to remove them. But if I’d just tried it...” Alys continues to criticize herself, completely ignoring his attempts to gain her attention. 

With effort he sits back up in bed, reaches out to cup her cheek and presses his lips against hers in a forceful kiss. A distraction for her and a comfort for him. She’s startled at first but relaxes into the kiss. 

“No matter what you did I’d feel like shit now. I feel nothing but gratitude towards you so please don’t second guess yourself.” He speaks to her gently. Patiently. They’ve had this conversation several times now. Not a surprising thing that her trauma has manifested in this way. She saw things and did things that day that are burned into her forever. 

“I hate hurting you,” she whispers. 

“You’re not doing so maliciously. You know as well as anyone that sometimes to help someone you need to hurt them.” 

Alys sniffles. “I should finish dealing with your scars. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.” 

They’re both changed from that day. He feels a fear and vulnerability he has never felt before this. And she’s questioning the very skills she used to save his life. “We could just relax for a bit,” he suggests. “Cuddle instead?” 

“I really should finish...” 

“You can deal with the rest later. Allow me to tend to your injuries.” 

When he reminds her that the emotional pain she’s in is an injury Alys is more likely to let him take care of her. Gently, he coaxes her down so she is lying next to him and he wraps an arm around her. 

“It won’t always hurt like this,” he murmurs against her cheek. A reminder for them both. 

Eventually she calms and settles against him. That she’s so close to him; her pelvis against his, separated only by their smalls is a delicious tease and his cock hardens, aching for release. 

“Simon did say we could... so long as we were careful,” he says sheepishly. “You do know it’s been awhile, yes?” 

“I’ve felt the time without your touch acutely.” 

“Would you like me?” His hand moves to rest on her hip, gently pulling her even closer. 

Alys hesitates. “I can see to your pleasure. I doubt sex would be a good idea given how sore you are.” 

“Then I will see to yours too. It’s been too long since I’ve done so.” He slips his hand between them, sliding it past the waistband of her smalls, running his fingers over her folds. 

She leans into his touch before pausing. “You first,” she says as her own hand reaches into his smalls and pulls out his cock. “Lie on your back; it’ll be more comfortable for you.” 

Alys reaches over him to adjust the pillows on their bed and he lies against them on his back, slightly elevated. “Comfortable?” 

“I’m good.” She reaches into the side table and pulls out a bottle of oil and pours some into her hand, rubbing her hands together to warm it before taking him in hand. A moan escapes his lips as she strokes him, her thumb rubbing over the head of his cock. The pleasure builds quickly after months without her touch and he bucks his hips, the movement ill-advised and he hisses in pain. 

She pauses and rests her other arm over his hips. “Try to stay still and let me take care of you, Love.” Once again she strokes him, his head falls back against the pillow. 

“Do you want me to draw it out? Tease you until you beg for release?” 

“No. I won’t last,” he gasps, his cock hardening in her hands. Smiling, she maintains her pace as his balls tighten. “Please, Tempest. I’m so close.” With a groan he spills on her hand as she strokes him through it. 

“That’s it,” she says softly. “Are you feeling well?” 

“Perfect,” he says, sated. “Come here. Let me care for you.” 

Alys leans against the pillows beside him and he snakes a hand between her legs, rubbing her clit. “I’ve missed this, Tempest. Watching the pleasure upon your face as I touch you.” She whimpers, biting her lip and rocking against his hand. 

He shifts without thinking and despite his attempts to hide the pain, she scrambles up, casting a spell to look him over. 

“I’m fine,” he says quickly, trying to reassure her. “Lie back and let me make you feel good.” 

But the mood is ruined. “I don’t think I’ll be able to,” she says, her face now contorted with worry and not pleasure. 

His face falls. “In the morning, perhaps?” 

“If you’re feeling well. Can - can you hold me?” 

“Come here.” His arms open and she slides up against him, resting a hand on his stomach.

“Tell me if I hurt you.” 

“You are not hurting me, Tempest.” Her body is stiff and rigid with anxiety. “I’m here.” A tear rolls onto his shoulder. 

“What will we do if I can’t heal you?” 

A question she’s asked him frequently as he’s become more mobile. 

“You will do the best you can.” The only reason he still lives is because of her. There’s no one who could do more to heal him than her. “Just try to relax. In the morning we’ll try again if you’ll allow me.” 

“Vasco...” He knows she won’t be able to relax enough to allow him to bring her pleasure. Not while he’s still so unwell. But there’s something else they can do. 

“Touch yourself.” 

She looks up at him, a question in her eyes. 

“I want to watch. Rub your clit for me while I tell you what to do. I’ll talk you to your end.” 

Slowly her hand makes its way down to her folds. She moves to lie on her back, away from him. “No. Stay close to me.” Alys stills, resting her head back on his shoulder. 

“Focus on your clit. Once I am able I will spend hours seeing to your pleasure. Fuck you from behind while my hand rests where we are joined, touching you until you come on my cock.” She moans and writhes against him. “But I’ll hold back, delay my own end until I’ve made you come so many times you’re begging me to spill myself inside you. Do you want this?” 

“Please...” 

“We’ve never figured out your limit, Tempest. How many times I can make you come until it becomes too much. I wonder what it is?” Her hand speeds up, indicating that she’s close. 

“Fuck yourself with your fingers,” he orders, using the tone she loves so much. Her hand stops and she adjusts, sliding two fingers inside her soaking wet cunt. 

“I want you to come for me. You’re so close, just a little more and your pretty cunt will clench your fingers.” 

“Vasco!” She cries out pleadingly, her body stiff as she focuses, working herself to her end. The sight makes his cock ache but he doesn’t dare touch himself for fear of causing himself pain and scaring her. 

“Keep going. You made me come so hard and I want the same for you. To watch you find your pleasure. You’re so beautiful.” Alys cries out; a mixture of pleasure and relief as she comes. 

“There we go,” he says once she stills, her head resting on his shoulder, her breath coming in hard pants. “How is your anxiety?” 

“Better,” she says with a wry smile. 

“Thought that would help. A good orgasm frequently does.” 

She looks down at his cock. “You’re wanting.” 

“That generally happens when I get to watch my beautiful wife in the throes of her pleasure.” 

“Shall I...?” 

“No. I’d rather fall asleep in your arms.” 

Leaning in, she kisses him languidly, her lips lingering on his. “I’d like that very much.”


	16. Little Recruits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vasco trains the children of Vignamri in combat.

As Vasco recovers from his injuries and works to get himself back in shape it’s not just Kurt who ends up helping. Instead, there’s a small group of surprising little students with infinite reserves of energy who keep Vasco on his toes. The children of Vignamri. 

It’s something she should have anticipated; the little ones tend to like him. Her and Vasco look different from the other villagers with their tattoos - particularly Vasco who was born in Sérène. He’s a curiosity to them. And more than willing to chase them around with a wooden sword teaching them how to fight. 

As a doctor, the children like her far less because a visit from her means they’re not feeling well or injured and her treatments make her unpopular. That and the fact that she’s not great with children. Not the way Vasco is. 

Her, _Modryb_ Slàn and Kurt are watching him instruct a group of children ranging from four to about ten. Eventually order breaks and they start chasing him around the village and he, as he always does, indulges them to their great delight. 

“Had no idea he was so good with kids, Green Blood.” 

“While Nauts are educated on our island as children, they frequently take short voyages when they’re little. Vasco’s been around a lot of kids.” 

Vasco stops running, raising his hands in surrender. “ _You got me, I give up!_ ” he says in _Yecht Fradí_. A couple of the children stand back but a few of them tackle him and he drops to the ground. The force of the tackle wouldn’t have been enough to knock him off his feet; she knows he’s indulging them. 

Still, she watches carefully, worried he’ll hurt or over-exert himself. Kurt sees this. “He’s fine. They’re having fun.” 

“ _This is what I get for teaching you hand-to-hand combat last time I was here!_ ”

“Their parents will be pleased with Vasco. They’ll all sleep well tonight,” _Modryb_ Slàn says. 

“They’re so energetic.” 

_Modryb_ Slàn smirks at her. “You sound so surprised. Were there not children where you grew up?” 

She shakes her head. “My adoptive mother had no other children. It was just my cousin and I. Whenever we visited the homes of others, the youngest children were tended to by nannies; the same with acquaintances of mine who had children.” 

Vasco is now giving the youngest of the group a piggyback ride as the little girl squeals with delight. 

“What a strange thing, to hide children away. Everyone in the village helps watch over our children if they are able. Your _renaigse_ village makes little sense.” 

Years as a Naut and an Islander has shown her just how strange life as a noble was. So much of it didn’t make sense. Child rearing is just one oddity of her former life. “This is the better method, there’s no doubt about that.” 

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Vasco hand the little girl off to her very grateful-looking mother who gives him a kiss on the cheek. He comes and sits next to her, his shirt and breeches covered in dirt and grass stains. “You’ll need to do laundry,” she says as she hands him a water skin and he laughs in response. 

“They’re good kids. Kept me on my toes.”

“Will you sleep as soundly as all of them will tonight?” 

“Oh yes. Considering a quick nap now, in fact.” 

She looks at him, alarmed. “Are you feeling unwell?” She hates that her first reaction is to panic. 

Vasco takes her hand. “I’m fine. Just tiring to keep up with the little ones.” 

“You will be popular with their parents, Vasco. It is likely you’ll have many more opportunities to run around with them,” _Modryb_ Slàn says to him. 

***

The kids enjoy watching Kurt and Vasco spar. Once they discover what they’re doing, Alys is joined by a group of children every morning as she sits to watch them. 

They’re an enthusiastic crowd, shouting encouragement in _Yecht Fradí_ to Vasco, who is highly amused to have his own cheering section. 

“What are they saying, Sailor?” She hears Kurt ask. 

“Various bits of encouragement. They want me to knock you over.” 

“Too bad I’ll disappoint them.” 

“No, I’ll be giving the kids what they’re hoping to see,” Vasco says in response. 

She notices the two of them are keeping their banter free of the curse words that usually pepper their speech. While most of the kids only speak _Yecht Fradí_ , teaching them how to curse in another language is probably poor form. 

Eventually Vasco does knock Kurt off his feet by sticking a leg out and tripping him. The excited uproar from Vasco’s little entourage makes her laugh. 

Vasco’s enjoying it too. He can’t quite keep the smile off his face. Extending a hand, he helps Kurt to his feet. “Shall we take a break?” 

The two of them settle down next to her and the children start discussing their favourite moments of the spar with a fervour only children have. It’s cute. 

Kurt doesn’t understand a word of it so when a boy of about seven asks him a question, he doesn’t realize at first. Vasco gets his attention. “Jac is asking you if your sword is heavy. I can translate.” 

“Oh, uh...” Kurt rubs the back of his neck. “Very heavy. Taller than you are. But something you grow into - you’d be able to learn to use one when you’re a little older.” 

Vasco translates and Jac, pleased with the answer, thanks them, stands up and runs off to join his sister who is standing nearby. 

“Did Alys have this much energy when you first started training her?” 

“Yes and no. She could certainly endure a hard lesson without wearing out, but her and Constantin had started to grow past the age where they could run and play all day.” 

“Mostly because Adrien had started putting a stop to it if we were anywhere we could be seen. Gods forbid two children act like bloody children,” Alys pipes in. 

“She must have worn you out.” 

“Sometimes. I was still a young man back then. Your crew of little recruits would definitely wear me right out now.” 

“Have you trained anyone since Constantin and I?” 

“Occasionally I help out with the new recruits. Supervise, give advice, that sort of thing. But, I did have an exchange with a young guard you’ll find interesting.”

“Oh?” Alys sits up straighter and looks at Kurt. 

“Man was young when he came into my office. Seventeen and he’d been an active duty guard for a year. Born into it, like me. He’d landed a job at the palace in Sérène. Had natural talent and proved to be trustworthy. Apparently he had moved to Tír Fradí along with Prince d’Orsay’s young heir. You do know he married and had another child, yes?” 

Alys nods. She also knows Celeste and her mother moved to New Sérène but this isn’t something she ever told Kurt. And she won’t tell him, not wanting knowledge of her intervention to spread. 

“Well, he wanted to train her. But was worried he wouldn’t be good at it. At first he tried to pawn her off on me. ‘You taught the woman who ended up finding the cure for the malichor’, he told me. Refused. I’d given up my position at the palace by that point and had no intention of returning. I gave him some pointers and sent him on his way.” 

“Do you know how it worked out? Is he training the young heir?” 

“I’m told the girl is a good shot. Prefers guns over swords. And an excellent student - polite and determined.” 

She’s glad Celeste is receiving training but wonders if her mother is as well. Kurt hasn’t said and she can’t ask without revealing her encounter with them. 

Vasco’s able to assist her. “Who did she move to New Sérène with? Or was she sent on her own?” 

“Her mother. Official story is that the prince sent the two of them to ‘enhance his heir’s education’. But it’s common knowledge that the story is bullshit. Chris - the guard, is providing her mother with training too. See her around New Sérène with her daughter sometimes and she reminds me a little of your mother. She’s affectionate with the girl.” 

“That’s good. I’m glad she has a parent who loves her.” 

“Don’t tell anyone I told you this. I may be the commander now but someone’ll chew me out if it becomes too public.” 

Alys giggles. “We won’t say anything. Thanks for sharing it with us.” 

***

Weeks in Vignamri give her and Vasco the opportunity to really get to know the villagers and become a part of the community. The two of them have been accepted as residents for years, but only visiting briefly a few times a year never allowed them to integrate fully. But now they are and Vignamri feels more like home than ever. 

“It won’t be easy to leave,” she tells Vasco as he cooks breakfast over the fire. 

“No. I’ll miss this. But I miss the sea now. Suppose with having two homes we’ll always miss something.” 

“We’re lucky. To have not just one home, but two.” 

They’ll be here another two weeks, she reminds herself. Jac runs up to them and asks Vasco if he would teach him and the other children “more about swords”. Vasco lights up, promising to give them a lesson in the afternoon and Jac gives him a hug before moving towards her and giving her one as well. 

Her heart is full.


	17. Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabet learns she has a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: references to child abuse and a terminal illness diagnosis of a family member

Sword fighting is never something she’s going to be good at. Eight years of training has provided ample evidence of that fact. 

The cut on her arm is just more proof of that. “Cousin! You’re bleeding!” Constantin says, dropping his sword. 

Kurt is significantly less concerned. “Do that in a live fight and your bleeding enemy will hit you, Excellency. Green Blood - you good?” 

It stings but her concern is more for her new white leather shoes. If blood gets on them they’ll stain. But if she tells Kurt this he’ll never let her hear the end of it. “I could use a rag and some bandages!” 

“I’ll have someone call for a crow. You’ll need that stitched up.” Kurt runs off. 

Holding her hand against it, she wills the bleeding to slow, to preserve her shoes. Warmth spreads over the cut; a strange feeling, which quickly turns into pain. Far more intense than it was just a few moments ago. “Shit!” She curses. 

Constantin’s eyes go wide. “What’s the matter?” She asks him. He simply points at her arm. 

It’s a sight so baffling she would have assumed she’s hallucinating from blood loss if Constantin hadn’t said something first. Not only is the cut not bleeding, but it’s closed, as if freshly stitched. 

Then it occurs to her. She imagined it healing and it did. “Constantin! I think I can heal.” The very thought of it fills her with a sense of wonder. What all would be possible with proper training? 

Kurt returns with bandages. “Wanted to drop these off. I’ll need to run and fetch a crow myself.” 

“I don’t need one. Look!” She shows her arm to Kurt. “I fixed it myself!” 

“Bullshit Green Blood. You had one of those fancy healing potions in your pocket.” 

“No I didn’t! Roll up your sleeve.” Kurt sighs but humours her and rolls up his sleeve, revealing a bruise on his elbow. Hoping she doesn’t make a fool of herself, she puts her hands on it, imagines the bruise disappearing and feels the tingle of magic run over Kurt’s skin. The bruise fades. 

“Shit Green Blood. Never heard of anyone healing like that.” 

“Guess you can’t give me lessons on this?” 

Kurt snorts. “Not a chance.” 

“I’ll write some contacts in Thélème. See if they have any books they can send me.” 

It’ll be several months before she receives a reply. In her impatience she wanders to a bookstore and purchases every Bridge Alliance textbook she can find on human anatomy and medicine. It’s a scientific and not magical approach, but it should give her some foundation for her studies. Knowing how a body works will be helpful. 

***

“What are you reading so intently, Elizabet?” Mother sits down beside her at their dining room table and pours her a cup of coffee. From Uncle Adrien’s private stash, presumably. She looks at Mother. “Don’t tell your uncle. I thought it would be a nice treat this morning.” 

“Thanks Mother.” She takes a sip and smiles at her before showing her the textbook. “I’m wanting to learn about healing. I found out I can use my magic to heal.” 

“These drawings are graphic,” Mother says. Not disapprovingly, necessarily, but she’s clearly uncomfortable with the subject matter of the textbook. “You find this interesting?” 

“I do. I sent a letter to Father Petrus in Thélème and I’m waiting for a response. I’m hoping he can send me some learning materials so I can strengthen my magical abilities in the area.” 

Mother looks almost... sad. Regretful. It’s strange. “Your uncle will not approve. Medicine is not an appropriate career path for a woman of your station.” 

And that would be the reason for her morose expression. “We can keep it secret, can’t we?” 

Mother takes her hand. “For as long as possible. But these walls have eyes and ears and he will find out eventually.” 

Occasionally before falling asleep she imagines life as a doctor. Of opening a clinic here in the palace and helping the common folk. She wouldn’t charge them for her services, not the way most doctors do. An unrealistic dream, she knows. 

Mother allows her to set up her own laboratory in a spare room of their wing in the palace. A visit to the kitchens gets her the occasional cow or pig corpse to practice on. Little things - stitches, learning how to make an incision using a scalpel, and setting broken limbs. They look at her as if she is quite mad when she stops in, but she’s used to stares. It’s nothing new. 

***

_Dear Elizabet De Sardet,_

_My name is Father Corbin and your letter to Father Petrus was forwarded to me. Firstly, I must offer my sincere apologies for opening your correspondence to him. He has recently been sent out of Thélème on a new assignment and I thought it best to ensure you received a response to your inquiry._

_The magic you describe is most curious. While we do have healers here in Thélème, their methods are quite different and rely on prayer seeking blessings from The Enlightened. I’m afraid that, as a... non-believer, our methods will not be effective for you._

_I wish you luck in your studies._

_Father Corbin_

The letter only confuses her more. How can she be using magic not used in Thélème? Has she discovered a whole new branch of magic? 

Without resources from Thélème, she’s on her own. Luckily training with Kurt and Constantin provide her with ample opportunity to practice - healing the scrapes, bruises and cuts that are common during sparring. 

She’s called for an audience with Uncle Adrien. Never something she enjoys. “Stay calm, stay stoic and remain polite at all times,” she whispers to herself. A mantra Mother taught her when she was young. The best way to avoid Uncle Adrien’s moods, Mother told her, and a strategy that usually works. 

That being said, things have been frosty since she broke her engagement eight months ago. She’s avoided Uncle Adrien as much as possible since he beat her and Mother retaliated in her defence. This is the first time she’s been called to speak with him alone since that incident. 

Their meeting is not in his sitting room, at least, but in the library. He greets her with surprising warmness and pours her a cup of coffee. “I had been told by your mother that you are fond of coffee.” 

She gives it a discreet sniff; disguised as simple enjoyment of the rich aroma of the drink. Since the broken engagement she does not trust Uncle Adrien or Aunt Suzette and poison is an easy way to dispose of someone. But her drink seems to be safe. She takes a sip and smiles politely at her uncle. 

“I was visiting with your mother when I noticed the most unusual room in your wing of the palace. Why would the daughter of Princess De Sardet, a young woman with every privilege and opportunity, opt to dissect animals?” 

It was only a matter of time. “I am interested in studying medicine. Part of my studies includes practicing on dead animals.” 

Uncle Adrien’s face sets into a frown. “A skill far beneath a woman of your standing. Healing is a skill reserved for the working class and the savants of the Bridge Alliance.” 

“It is just a hobby, Uncle. Not a career path.” Something she has always known, but that does not mean it hurts any less to say it out loud. 

“A hobby?”

“Yes. Like my dancing and singing.” 

“Those are appropriate hobbies for a young woman in high society. Dissecting creatures isn’t.” 

“Nobody knows. Only Mother, Constantin and Kurt. And now you.” 

He takes a sip of his coffee before placing it on the table beside him. “Your mother has informed me she approves of your... activities. That you are free to pursue whatever knowledge interests you.“

“So Mother told me.” She concentrates on the warmth of the mug in her hands in an attempt to fight the anxiety building inside her. Stay calm, stay stoic and remain polite at all times. 

“Knowledge that a member of such a prominent family would sink so low as to become one of those crows would cause a great deal of embarrassment.” Uncle Adrien grimaces slightly before adding, “Something your cousin has given us more than enough of lately.” 

Constantin was caught in the bed chamber of a young noblewoman. Not terribly embarrassing in and of itself, but the family was deemed to be “beneath” the great d’Orsay family. 

She’d thrown pebbles at the woman’s window in an attempt to wake them up. To give Constantin a chance to escape out the window before being noticed. But an excess of drink the night before ensured they stayed firmly asleep until the woman’s mother entered the room. 

The family had tried to arrange an engagement, to Uncle Adrien’s furor. They were... probably paid for their silence. How the matter concluded was never revealed to her and Constantin refuses to talk about it. 

She doesn’t know what to say in response. But she feels the need to defend Constantin. “He means well. In time he will settle down.” 

Adrien doesn’t respond. Elizabet drains the last of her coffee. “Is there anything you wish to discuss with me?” He looks at her and she wonders if the question is a trap. 

All her life she’s avoided talking to Uncle Adrien more than she must. One of Mother’s first lessons for her. There’s little he knows about her true self. Instead he sees a carefully crafted mask: a polite and diplomatic woman who is fond of singing and dancing. Who can work a room at a party seemingly without difficulty. 

The real Elizabet De Sardet - the young woman with severe anxiety, who hates court and the expectations that come with it, and who has never felt like she belongs anywhere is carefully hidden. Constantin sees the real her. Kurt too. Mother sees the anxiety; has known her daughter has always struggled with her nerves, but she suspects Mother has also figured out the rest. That Mother’s approval of her studies is an attempt to give her an escape. A passion separate from the expectations of the life she was born into that she can take comfort in. 

“No Uncle Adrien. I look forward to our next family dinner.” A smooth and careful lie; the dinners are generally an awkward affair. Uncle Adrien and Aunt Suzette openly complaining about or chiding Constantin. Discussions about politics. Or - the worst ones of all: the painful, uncomfortable silences. 

They don’t dare criticize her openly. Mother would never allow it and Uncle Adrien avoids angering Mother. 

“I look forward to it as well.” It’s impossible for her to tell if that is truthful or a lie just as carefully crafted as hers. “Run along Elizabet.” With the dismissal, she curtsies and leaves the library without another word. 

***

Mother has been unwell. A stomach ailment, the doctors tell her. But the potions they give her do nothing. 

“I think I will take dinner in my room, Elizabet. You don’t mind, do you?” 

Her face falls. “Mother, I can sit with you. Allow me to pass along our regrets to Uncle Adrien. Perhaps I can try something with my magic to see if it will help?” 

She’s been practising her healing diligently over the last three years and can heal simple injuries. Whatever is causing Mother’s pain is worse than anything she’s treated before but that doesn’t mean she can’t try.

Mother shakes her head. “We must keep up appearances. Go on without me.” 

Taking several deep breaths in an attempt to ease her anxiety, she steps into the dining room. Uncle Adrien and Aunt Suzette are already seated. Constantin is nowhere to be found. “Good evening,” she says, plastering a false smile on her face. 

“Good evening Niece. Your cousin could not be bothered to arrive on time. Where is your mother?” 

“Under the weather, Uncle Adrien. She asked I pass along her apologies.” 

His face falls; a rare show of genuine concern. “We must call for the doctors once more. Their diagnosis was incorrect.” 

“I am sure they will find what is wrong,” she says, trying to remain calm. There is one diagnosis neither dare say out loud: the malichor. It frequently starts with stomach trouble. Numbness in the extremities frequently follows; Mother hasn’t developed those symptoms - at least, she hasn’t told her if she has. 

Mother has told her that she is Adrien’s favourite person in this world. Not that the feeling is mutual any longer; they were close in their youth but, in Mother’s words: “the loss of his wife and son turned him cruel”. It damaged him beyond repair; he was always a cutthroat and calculating ruler but following the loss, those traits extended into his personal life. And it’s his son who faces much of his wrath. 

Constantin walks into the dining room following the conclusion of their first course. “Apologies, I was tied up,” he says lightly, looking over and giving her a wink. 

She suspects he’s being literal and glares at him, wordlessly pleading with him to take this dinner seriously. 

“If only you respected your family and your obligations in the same way you respect drink and loose women,” Adrien says. 

“If you’re going to let your whores leave marks, don’t let them do it to your neck. You look like a common prostitute,” Suzette adds. 

So tonight’s dinner will be all about beating on their son. Lovely. She decides to intervene. “I was speaking with Mr. De Courcillon the other day and he told me the most interesting thing about Tír Fradí. Apparently the islander’s magic is powerful enough to control plants! And that they have incredible remedies to cure all sorts of ailments.” 

“You are correct,” Adrien says. 

“It would be a fascinating place to visit, don’t you think?” 

Adrien gives her a rare smile. “Yes, I believe it would be. There is much potential for our nation on that island.”

Luckily this shifts the conversation to rumours about the island and its magic. Apparently New Sérène is being built quickly and more and more citizens are taking the leap to move to Tír Fradí. An attempt to escape the malichor more than anything else. 

Aunt Suzette looks very pointedly at her during the conversation - to the point where it becomes deeply uncomfortable. 

She doesn’t like her aunt. The woman is harsh and unkind. Perfectly suited to Adrien in that respect, though their marriage is built on politics and not genuine love or even affection. Suzette is bloodthirsty too; assassinations are not an unfortunate necessity for her but something she truly enjoys. A hobby. 

That someone could take joy out of taking lives has never made much sense to her. 

Despite the discomfort, she endures the dinner and opts out of Constantin’s invitation to the tavern. “I need to check in on Mother,” she tells him. 

Quietly, so as not to wake her up, she opens the door to Mother’s bedroom. A hand on her forehead reveals she is feverish so she places a wet cloth on her brow. 

She can’t leave Mother. Not when she’s so clearly unwell. So she removes her dress (with difficulty - she really should have gone to her quarters and had someone assist her with this at least), unlaces her corset and lies down on the bed next to Mother. 

There’s a knock on the door the next morning. Mother is awake and was watching her sleep, apparently. “Just a moment!” Mother calls out before turning to her, “There’ll be something in the closet you can throw on; that will be the doctor I expect.” 

She grabs a blouse and skirt from Mother’s closet and puts them on quickly before opening the door. A physician walks in silently and pulls up a chair beside Mother. 

The doctor pulls out a scalpel - a bloodletting, apparently. Personally it’s a remedy she doesn’t quite believe in, but with almost no practical experience it wouldn’t be appropriate to speak up. 

With the procedure comes the diagnosis. Mother’s blood runs down her arm from her open wound. Her black blood. Elizabet gasps, hands shaking and head spinning. 

“Well, that’s that, I suppose.” Her mother says, trying to sound upbeat. For her sake she suspects. 

“Mother!” She clasps her hand as tears roll down her face.

“Hush Elizabet. We all knew this was a possibility. It’s still early, right?” She turns and looks at the crow who nods. 

“I’m going to brew you potions. I’ve been practising; I can do more advanced ones now. I can experiment - see what helps you feel better,” she babbles, uncaring that the doctor is able to overhear her plans. 

“And you will do a splendid job, Elizabet.” 

How is she so calm? “Mother, why aren’t you upset?” 

“Oh Elizabet, I’ve suspected for awhile. When the last remedies failed what else could it be? Knowing for weeks gave me time to make peace with it.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The last of her composure breaks and she weeps into her hands. She hears the sound of bottles being placed on a table and footsteps, followed by a closed door. They are alone. 

“I didn’t want you to worry. I knew you would. And I’d hoped to be wrong.” 

“I could have been making you potions for weeks! You’ve been so sick!” She winces at her own tone; she’s not angry at Mother but at the situation. Mother seems to realize this and tugs on her arm, pulling her into an embrace. 

“The worst part of this right now is seeing how troubled it has made you. It’s early. I could be around for several more years still. And perhaps by then they’ll have found a cure.” 

She’s not nearly as optimistic as Mother is. Then again, neither is Mother. This is all for her benefit. “You must tell me what potions are working for you. And when they stop working let me know and I can make adjustments to the recipe.” 

“I will let you know. But for now, shall we enjoy the day together? It has been so long since we’ve sat in bed reading to one another.” 

“You don’t wish to tell Uncle Adrien?” 

“Not today. It can wait until tomorrow. My little girl needs me right now.” 

She’s always going to need Mother and one day, far sooner than she’d ever hoped, Mother won’t be here to care for her any longer.


	18. To the Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s nothing, if not a romantic.

When Cera locks them in the Cavern of Knowledge, it makes her feel uncomfortable beyond the fact that they are trapped in a cave and need to find their way out. At first it’s just unexplainable anxiety, but that night as her and the team sit by the fire and she stares at Vasco, she realizes what is bothering her. 

“I’m going to have to kill Cera,” she says. 

Because Cera loves High King Vinbarr and if someone threatens the one you love, you fight to the death to protect them. 

“It’ll be her choice in the end. You’ll give her every chance to stand back,” Aphra says. It’s a logical response, very typical of Aphra. 

But Vasco understands. “If someone threatened Elizabet I’d fight to my last breath to protect her.” 

“I don’t want to kill someone simply for protecting their love.” Left unsaid is that she doesn’t want to kill Vinbarr. All she wants is to save Constantin. And if Vinbarr releases Constantin without engaging in further hostilities... well she would likely walk away without starting a fight. 

“Aphra’s right, my child. She’s choosing her fate. A noble choice, to die defending one’s partner.” 

Siora says nothing; she’s sitting watching the flames of their campfire. Now knowing what they’ll have to do, Elizabet realizes she should have encouraged Siora to go home and visit with Eseld. Keep her out of this mess. It’s a cruel thing to have to go up against your high king. 

Pleading with Cera, promising to do everything she can to avoid killing High King Vinbarr doesn’t work. Cera runs towards her, ready to kill and she casts a shield over herself and the rest of the team. 

Vasco steps in front of her, deflecting Cera’s attack with his sword. Elizabet readies a spell in her hand. “Stand back! I have this!” Vasco says as Cera blocks his own attack. 

Vasco’s not Cera’s target; she is. And Cera tries to get to her but Vasco won’t budge. “You want her, you need to kill me first,” he tells her. 

The rest of the team respects Vasco’s wishes that he take Cera one-on-one. It worries her, what he’s doing, and she’ll step in if it looks like he’s in danger of getting hurt. 

Cera’s a skilled combatant but Vasco is quick. Too quick for her and he runs her through. A mortal injury, but not one that will kill her quickly, Elizabet thinks as she watches Cera try to stem the blood flowing out of her wound. Vasco crouches down over her. Panic hits her; what is he doing? He’s won the fight - all he needs is to finish it with his pistol but he’s putting himself at risk. Why? 

These thoughts race through her mind, so overwhelming she doesn’t realize that he’s back by her side. “It’s done,” he says quietly, “she had this seed in her pocket,” he hands it to her, his hand visibly shaking as he does so. 

Two people fought to the death to save the one they love. And it was her lover who came out on top. 

“You good, Love?” They need to get into Vinbarr’s sanctuary and save Constantin but she will not put Vasco at risk in doing so. A quick spell to look him over determines he wasn’t injured. Just nerves in the aftermath of a stressful fight. 

He takes a long draw from his water skin and nods. “We should do what we came here to do and save your cousin.” 

***

Constantin sleeps, unable to be awakened, magically or otherwise but they cannot make the journey back to New Sérène in a single day. They’re forced to camp for the night. “We should be able to hire carriages in the morning,” Kurt says. 

Her healing spells aren’t doing anything but she casts them anyway. Simply to feel useful. Vasco comes and sits with her at his bedside. 

“How are you feeling, Tempest?” 

“I’m worried for him. But relieved he is still alive.” She turns to look at him and takes his hand. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Aye.” 

“Why did you crouch over Cera when you could have shot her from afar? She could have attacked you. I’m surprised she didn’t.”

“I’m aware. Just thought she deserved the courtesy of knowing she was dying an honourable death. That we were both fighting to defend the one we love.” 

She knew that’s why he insisted on fighting her alone. That slaying a woman fighting desperately to save her love would be easier to endure if it was done by someone fighting for the very same reason. “You’ve told me repeatedly that fighting fair is for fools.” 

Vasco chuckles a bit at that. “In this instance I am a fool. Or rather, a romantic.” 

He certainly is a romantic. The day they first met, she never would have imagined the sharp-tongued sea captain in front of her would believe in soul mates, love romantic poetry, soft touches, and willingly duel to the death to keep her safe. “That was the thing that surprised me most about you. When I was first getting to know you, I mean.” 

Vasco takes her hand, lifts it to his lips and kisses it. “You haven’t known enough Nauts then.” 

“Oh?” 

“We’re all foolish romantics. The entire lot of us. Some just hide it better than others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate that you have to kill Cera - it breaks my heart every time I do it in-game. This piece was inspired by Vasco’s dialogue when you get to Vinbarr’s hideout; he mentions that if you had a secret hideout, who else would you share the secret with but the one you love.


	19. The Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their patient ends up being the worst sort of surprise...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: canon-typical racism, PTSD

Lauro’s frantic knocking on their door wakes them both up. A distress call from another ship, apparently. 

“Semaphore signs say there’s been a casualty on board. They’ll need a doctor.” 

“We’ll be right out. Let them know we’re ready to accept the person in need of care.” Vasco responds. 

Her and Vasco get out of bed and dress silently. Anxiety is coursing through her - this is the first emergency of this sort they’ve faced since they encountered the half-sunk ship that led to the attack that nearly killed her husband two years ago. 

“It won’t be like last time,” he tells her, wrapping his arms around her and giving her a kiss. 

“I know.” And she does, rationally, but that’s not stopping the flashbacks that are running through her mind right now. 

She goes to the infirmary to prepare and finds Gabriella already there. “Any idea what happened?” She asks. 

Alys shakes her head. “Doubt we’ll know until the lifeboat arrives with our patient. Not sure if it’s crew or a passenger.” 

It’s another hour before the transfer is made and - rather unusually, Vasco enters the infirmary along with Lauro and Javier who have their patient on the stretcher. A Bridge Alliance citizen, evidently, judging by the turban on the man’s head. Vasco looks grim, and pulls Javier aside once the man is deposited onto an operating table. She doesn’t hear what he says but Javier says he’ll be right back and walks out, closing the door behind him. 

Stepping towards the man allows her to get a good look at his face. Her stomach sinks and she looks up at Vasco, who has taken a seat on a nearby cot. 

It’s Governor Burhan. Or - more likely, Doctor Burhan now, given that the ship he was a passenger on is on its way to Al-Saad. Now, depending on the extent of the treatment needed, it is likely he’ll remain on the Sea Horse and end up making a stop in Sérène before transferring onto another ship to Al-Saad. 

Physically he looks perfectly fine, aside from the cold sweat on his brow. And the fact that he’s unconscious and Gabriella is unable to rouse him. 

He’s a patient. Just like any other and, swallowing her own feelings down, she casts a spell to determine his ailment. It takes a few minutes of investigating but just as she figures it out, he shoots up, flailing his arms. 

“I gave no permission for native savagery to be performed on me,” he says sharply as she steps back. 

Gabriella attempts to restrain him. “Sir, you need to lie down. You’re very ill.” 

Admittedly she’s a little surprised he was able to recognize that her healing magic is a spell only used by the islanders of Tír Fradí. Firm believers in science, those of the Bridge reject magical remedies. That she mixes their scientific methods with magical healing taught to her by Siora and Catasach would be rather horrifying to most of their scientists. Their loss: there’s wisdom and value in both approaches and using both has made her a stronger doctor. 

“I’ve had a heart attack, I don’t need a savage to tell me that!” He spits out, glaring daggers at her, ignoring Gabriella completely. 

It’s doubtful he’s recognized her; he just sees the mark and not the woman bearing it. 

From what she could tell during her investigation, he has had a massive heart attack. But she could likely undo some of the damage using her magic. Potentially give him a few more years. Without her intervention she doubts he’d last a year. “Are you denying treatment, Sir?” 

“It’s ‘Doctor’!” 

She rolls her eyes before looking over at Vasco, who looks almost as exasperated. “Are you denying treatment, _Doctor_?” 

“There’s nothing a savage can do for this.” 

“Doctor Gabriella, can you give our patient a healing potion, followed by a sleeping potion?” A healing potion won’t do much, but it’s better than nothing. 

Burhan is far more cooperative with Gabriella and when he’s asleep, she sits down next to Vasco and waves Gabriella over. “We need to have a discussion on ethics,” she says quietly. 

“Oh?” Gabriella looks confused. Vasco, on the other hand, is unsurprised, as if he was expecting this. 

“Our patient has denied treatment but lacks the full knowledge of the potential benefits of it. That I should be able to repair some of the damage done and give him several more years. In theory, he should be told this and given the opportunity to change his mind.” 

“What is the issue then?” Gabriella asks. 

“He won’t listen to me. I had dealings with this man back when I was still involved in politics. To say I dislike him would be a great understatement. But he doesn’t recognize me. And I’d prefer it remain that way. My concern is that, given my... bias I will subconsciously not make the appropriate effort to make him understand his options.” 

Burhan knew what Asili was up to. Her and Vasco have always known that. All those years ago she wishes she could have had him arrested and put on trial alongside his former peer. 

But were he to consent to it, she would heal him, just as she would a normal patient. 

“If Gabriella were to have the conversation, would he listen?” Vasco asks. 

“Possibly. It would need to be made clear that I am the one who would be doing the procedure.” 

“Or we could hide it? Give him a sleeping potion and tell him I did it?” Gabriella suggests. 

“No. I don’t believe we should be dishonest. That wouldn’t be right. We’ve gone over how to give such news to patients. When he wakes, will you speak with him?” 

“I can,” she says, sounding somewhat nervous. 

“I’m sticking around here, if you two do not object to my company. Javier dropped off some paperwork from my office so I can set myself up out of the way.” 

It’s a relief to have his company. She doesn’t trust the man, despite his dire state. And neither does Vasco, evidently. 

Gabriella pulls some textbooks off the shelf as Burhan sleeps. Alys knows what she’s looking for, but also knows she won’t find it. 

“There’s nothing surgical that can be done is there?” 

She shakes her head. “Anything we tried would be too experimental to perform on someone still alive. I can help magically but if he refuses that, there are only lifestyle changes to keep him as comfortable as possible.” 

“I hate this.” Gabriella does not have magical abilities and she’s been careful to ensure Gabriella is aware of the limitations of science. There’s much she can do but... some ailments require magic to heal. 

“You’ve saved lives, Gabriella. But we can’t always save everyone.” 

Burhan sleeps all day and into the evening. Apparently she dozed off at one point because when she wakes up, she can hear Gabriella talking to him. Explaining the potential benefits of allowing an islander to heal him. Vasco sits at the end of her cot and takes her hand when he notices that she’s awake. 

“He still doesn’t recognize you,” he murmurs quietly enough so only she can hear. 

“What about you?” 

“He won’t recognize me. Doubt he could have picked me out from a crowd back in the day, let alone now.” 

Vasco has a point. The two of them attended the odd social event in Hikmet which forced them to mingle with Burhan and other prominent scientists. None of them ever recognized Vasco outside of those events. 

It sounds as if Burhan is still resisting treatment. “Doctor, if you are declining treatment, we will do what we can overnight but may as well return you to your ship, along with instructions for your continued recovery. Your prognosis is not good; without treatment from our other doctor, it is unlikely you’ll live more than another year and should get your affairs in order.” 

“You’re young, girl, and don’t remember how the savages hate my people. Your master is just looking for an excuse to kill me using one of her barbaric rituals.” 

It goes unmentioned that the reason for the conflict between the Bridge and the islanders was that innocent people were being kidnapped for twisted experiments. Yet he has the audacity to call her people barbaric. And, rather conveniently, he’s forgotten that Nauts were also targeted for the same experiments. 

She hopes Gabriella is successful in convincing him. For Gabriella’s sake more than anything. In this instance she’s taken the lead on treatment and fears Gabriella will perceive herself to be a failure if she cannot convince him. 

“My teacher has healed people sicker than you. Brought people back from the brink. With her help you’ll live several more years.” 

Burhan must be in his 70s by now. Old, but a few more years means more time with children and grandchildren. She knows he has at least one child back on the continent. Or, he did back when she was still a politician. 

“Prove her skills to me.” Gabriella turns and looks at both her and Vasco, silently pleading for help. Vasco sighs and stands up, walks over to Burhan, unbuttoning his shirt. 

“As you can see from the scars, the doctor over there pulled half a dozen bullets out of me two years ago. Kept me alive when no one else could have.” 

She digs her nails into the palms of her hand, fighting back against the flashbacks running through her mind. 

“Is this proof enough? If she can put me back together after that, fixing what’s broken in you is simple. Quit being a stubborn asshole.” 

It won’t be all that easy but she doesn’t actually say this out loud. She has to smile at Vasco’s dig at Burhan; during their years on Tír Fradí he frequently expressed his desire to really chew the man out properly and that he never was able to was always a slight regret of his. 

“I want a guard in the room,” Burhan says, after a long pause. 

“That can be arranged. I will remain to guard our two doctors.” 

Burhan gives Vasco an odd look. “Why?” 

“Because one of them is an islander and as you have likely noticed, we’re old enough to remember the crimes committed against her people.” He pauses for a moment. “Both of her peoples,” he adds.

He doesn’t make any reference to their marriage; certainly an effort to hide her identity. 

“Get me a guard and once she’s done, the savage keeps her distance. The young one is in charge.” 

“Fine by me,” she says, still seated on a cot across the room. There’s so much more she wishes to say but doesn’t want to risk revealing her identity. Or changing his mind. 

There’s a huge sense of pressure the next morning as a Coin Guard and Vasco linger in the infirmary as her and Gabriella prepare. There are risks with any medical treatment, but she’s aware that Burhan’s condition is fragile and if he doesn’t live despite their best efforts, Vasco will likely end up duelling the guard to protect her and Gabriella. 

It’s... a little overwhelming. Gabriella gives Burhan a sleeping potion (because he certainly wouldn’t accept anything she gives him) and she gets to work. This isn’t the first time she’s repaired damage caused by a heart attack. It’s not something Catasach taught her; she suspects such health issues are more rare amongst islanders, but the principles are similar enough to other lessons he taught her. 

That being said, he’s going to feel worse before he feels better. As she works, she gives instructions to Gabriella. “Am I ready for this?” She asks at one point. “I’ve never dealt with a patient without supervision.” 

“You’ll be fine. In another year you’ll be on a ship on your own. He will try to push you around; he’s a doctor and will think he knows better. But he doesn’t. Be firm and if he gives you too much trouble, find Vasco and he’ll put him in his place.” 

“Gladly,” Vasco chimes in from across the room. She can hear grumbling from the guard; quiet enough that she can’t make out precisely what was said. “This is my ship and as the commander of this entire fleet, I will ensure my crew are treated respectfully,” Vasco says firmly in response. The guard doesn’t respond. 

“I’ve done what I can,” she announces after several hours of work. Having a chance to really look at the damage showed her it was actually far worse than she had initially thought. But he will live - likely for several more years, assuming he avoids stressing his body. 

She’s dizzy, the way she often is after taking the number of magic potions required to sustain a healing spell over a number of hours. Vasco helps her to a cot and looks torn. She’s aware she needs to leave before Burhan wakes up and he wants to watch over her, but recognizes that Gabriella should not be left alone. 

“I can go lie down in our quarters. You stay here.” 

“Tempest...” 

“Gabriella needs a guard. Someone else can keep watch over me. Once he’s awake, you can look at altering the arrangement.” 

“So long as his guard is in the room, a guard of our own will be as well.” 

Vasco stands up and calls for Jonas who comes and helps her to bed. He stands rather awkwardly at the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do. “You can take a seat at the desk if you like. Or if you’re especially uncomfortable with the idea of remaining in our quarters you can stand outside the door. But it’ll be warmer in here.” 

It’s autumn so it’s getting cold outside, especially on the open ocean. After a moment’s hesitation he settles at the desk. She closes her eyes. “Afraid I won’t be good company. Vasco’ll relieve you whenever he can. Feel free to read anything that catches your interest on our bookshelf.” 

The glow of a lantern is the only light in the room when she wakes up once more. So it’s after dark, then. “Here,” Vasco says, handing her a water skin. “I have some food as well; I expect you’re hungry.” 

She hasn’t eaten since early this morning so she’s ravenous. Once the water skin is drained, she takes the plate from him and starts to eat. “How is he?” She asks between mouthfuls. 

“About how you would expect. Trying to order Gabriella around. Entirely ungrateful of your efforts to save his life. The poor woman is going to have a rough time with him. Jonas is guarding her.” 

“It’ll be good practice for her and she’s capable of handling him. I’m unsure how to do my job while he’s in the infirmary, however.” 

“Well, tomorrow you’ll be resting,” she readies herself to protest - she’ll be fine by morning, but he stops her. “You’ve worn yourself out. Gabriella insisted you take the day off tomorrow so listen to her if you won’t listen to me.” 

“I’ll take it easy,” she sighs. “And after tomorrow?” 

“We’ll see. If anything comes up, we can have you tend to people elsewhere on the ship. How long do you expect him to be recovering?” 

“A week in the infirmary, most likely. But now he’ll be with us until we arrive at the port in Sérène, so he’ll have to be given accommodations somewhere.” 

“I’ve got it sorted out. He’ll have a room - likely not to his standards, but it has a bed and a door and when he complains I’ll remind him that you and Gabriella are responsible for saving his life.” 

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy putting him in his place.” 

“Me? Of course not,” he says, feigning offence. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

Vasco snort laughs. “And you shouldn’t. It’ll be a bright spot of this voyage telling him to shut the fuck up and be grateful.” 

The next day she spends resting, as promised, but is antsy the day after that. With calm seas, there are no passengers complaining of sea sickness, and being effectively barred from the infirmary means there’s no cleaning to be done or potions to be brewed. She’s... pretty damn bored, actually. 

Vasco’s working in his office so she sits on the deck and tries not to feel guilty about doing some reading. Eventually Gabriella joins her. “How is it going with Doctor Burhan?” 

“The man is not easy to deal with. Questions every decision I make. But you warned me about that. Something else worries me.” 

“Oh?” 

“He’s curious about the methods you’ve taught me. Not the magical healing; everything else.” 

When she first started treating injuries on Tír Fradí she followed the Bridge Alliance textbooks she’d collected to the letter. But over time, once she gained more experience and became more skilled at healing using her magic, she adapted the techniques. Found better ways of doing things. And these are the techniques she taught Simon and Gabriella. 

“He wants to learn from you,” she says as the realization washes over her. 

Gabriella nods. Alys thinks back to the day her, Vasco and Aphra infiltrated Asili’s lab. The horrors they saw there. While apparently the Bridge Alliance has cleaned up its act... the trust is gone. If Burhan learns what she’s developed, will any students of his practice her methods ethically? 

She won’t let anyone be tortured using knowledge she’s gained. “Tell him nothing. Under no circumstances is he to learn any of our methods. Inform him they’re Naut secrets. And if he pushes back, get Vasco.” Normally she would be the one to intervene but given his behaviour towards her, he wouldn’t respect anything she has to say. 

“He will claim our methods would save lives.” 

“Burhan excused the torture and murder of both islanders and Nauts in their desperation to find a cure for the malichor. He only intervened when I discovered what his fellow scientist was up to. He has no right to our medical advancements.” 

“Commander Vasco seems to dislike him.” 

“He was with me that day. Saw what Asili did to our brothers and sisters. It is safe to say he will enjoy the opportunity to intervene should it prove necessary. Don’t call him by name in front of Burhan. Just in case he remembers Vasco’s name from my days as a politician.” 

With the quiet seas lingering over the rest of the week, she continues to find herself terribly bored. But Burhan’s request gives her an idea for a project. She grabs a notebook from Vasco’s office and starts writing a book. A detailed guide of the medical techniques she’s developed. Because she won’t be working as a doctor forever and it will be good for the Nauts to have a textbook to reference once she’s retired. 

It’s been a long time since she’s spent entire days writing. Her wrist aches in the evenings when she meets Vasco on deck. 

“You can pace yourself a little,” he says to her as she tries to stretch her aching wrist out. 

“I have so many ideas. Don’t want to forget anything.” 

He chuckles at her. “It’s an excellent idea. One I should have considered years ago.” 

“It puts some of the knowledge I’ve gained to good use.” 

“Yes, it wasn’t as if you’ve used it at all this last decade and a half to save lives,” he says dryly. 

She bumps him with her shoulder in response and he wraps his arms around her and gives her a kiss. “A century from now, Nauts will be known for the skill of their doctors and it will all be thanks to you.” 

“And you. You’re the one who got me started training people.” 

“A comparably small role to play. You’re the hero of this tale.” 

***

Burhan’s prejudice is truly a thing to behold. Convenient, though, because he can’t be bothered to take a good look at her. Or to realize that she’s an islander with the accent of a noble. 

The knowledge that practices developed by the _doneigada_ are what saved his life must drive him crazy. 

His latest confrontation with Vasco takes place on deck, in front of much of the crew. Burhan cornered him, insisting on being taught the secrets of Naut healing. 

Vasco stares him down. “I’ve told you, repeatedly, that our methods are a secret kept by my people. You will learn nothing... unless the admiral in Sérène accepts you as a sea given,” he looks him up and down. “Unlikely given your condition.” 

“You’re not a doctor.” 

“I’m not. I’m the fleet commander. Which means I’m in charge and I’m telling you no. That silver spoon in your mouth doesn’t give you rights to what’s ours. So leave me and my crew alone.” Vasco pushes past him and makes his way to his office. 

“I would pay you.” 

This clearly hits a nerve. Vasco stills, turns around and makes his way back over to Burhan. “The secrets of my brethren are not for sale. There is no price you could name that will turn me or either of our doctors into traitors. If I hear this topic come up on _my_ ship again I will take it as the threat that it is. Since you will be relying on our services to make it to Al-Saad after our doctors saved _your_ life, I suggest returning to your quarters and making yourself scarce for the last two weeks of the voyage.” Without another word he turns and leaves for his office once more. 

The implication in Vasco’s words works and Burhan keeps his mouth shut for the remainder of their journey. Gabriella looks him over one last time and gives him additional instructions to aid his ongoing recovery. “He’s still healing well enough,” Gabriella tells her once she returned to the infirmary. 

“You’ve done well with his treatment.” 

“It was you who saved him,” Gabriella responds. 

“Don’t discount what you’ve done. He needed further treatment after what I did and you took care of him beforehand. And he isn’t an easy man to deal with. You should be proud.” 

“He told me he was returning home after decades in Hikmet. He’s never met his grandchildren.” 

It’s strange, hearing things about Burhan’s life. Things that humanize him. “I imagine he will enjoy having time to spend with them.” 

“Said he risked your treatment so he would have time with them.” 

She has to laugh a little at that. That his prejudice makes him perceive the best chance he had at life as a greater risk than doing nothing. She thinks of all of the people tortured, buried and burned in Asili’s lab who will never meet their own grandchildren. 

“Why’d you do it? You hate him. Commander Vasco does too. I can see it on your face.” 

“Because it was the right thing to do. And sometimes the ethical course of action is the hardest one of all.” 

“If you saved him after all he allowed to happen, you must be able to save everyone you encounter.” 

A face flashes in her mind. Shaved head and a beard, with a menacing grin. The man who tried to kill her husband. “Not everyone,” she whispers. 

Gabriella looks panicked. “Shit. I’m sorry Doctor Alys. That was thoughtless of me.” 

She shakes her head vigorously. “It was not. In theory I should be able to say I’d save anyone who needs care. In practice... I’m human. And someone who tries to kill a person I love...” 

“I’m not sure if I could do it either. I’ve never had to decide.” 

“Pray you’re never in that position. That you never have to stick your hands inside the person you love most in the world, knowing you might have to treat their would-be killer next. Knowing that if your hand slips or you make one wrong decision...” A tear falls down her cheek and she wipes it away. Two years and it still haunts her. It likely always will. 

The vivid picture she paints makes Gabriella’s eyes widen at the thought. “Is the man...?” 

“Dead? Yes. Put to death long ago. Vasco told me on the first anniversary of the attack.” 

“That must have been some comfort.” 

“Some... I’d have rather been the one to do it.” 

***

Burhan very pointedly ignores her and Vasco as he disembarks. He does take a few minutes to thank Gabriella so there is some semblance of manners in there. Deep down. 

“At least he didn’t recognize me,” she says to Vasco when he makes it to their cabin that night. 

“Never thought Adrien’s insistence that your greatest talent was shameful would actually have a benefit. Doubt Burhan ever would have considered that the woman who saved his life was the Congregation politician he argued with periodically so many years ago.” 

She stands up and undoes his coat, sliding it off his shoulders and hanging it up. “I got a bath ready for you.” 

He leans in and gives her a kiss. “I’m a lucky man. Thank you.” 

As she unbuttons his shirt, she smiles at him. Gently she slides her hands over his chest and down his torso, lean muscle twitching under her touch. The scars from that day more than two years ago have started to fade, becoming more difficult to see amongst all of his tattoos. But she can feel them. So many things these last few weeks have reminded her of that awful time and the memories have never been far from her mind. Touching his scars brings the memories to the forefront of her mind filling her with terror and dread. Anxiety makes her hands tremor. 

“I’m still here, Tempest.” A gentle reminder. Vasco always knows what she needs. 

She looks up at him and smiles before taking a deep breath. With shaking hands she unties his breeches. “I know. And I’m grateful for that every day. We should get you in the tub and I will rub your back for you.” 

It’s easier to push the intrusive thoughts away when she’s taking care of him. 

Once undressed, Vasco walks over to the tub and gets in, sighing contentedly. She sits behind him and rubs his back, attempting to work out the knots that have formed since she attended to him last. Vasco washes up and then he sits quietly. Too quietly. Pausing her ministrations, she moves around to see that he’s fallen asleep. Not particularly unusual; he’s so often dead on his feet once they make it to port. 

But, while he’s not a large man, she can’t exactly carry him to bed the way he can carry her. So, once she’s finished with his back she taps him until he wakes up and looks at her, bleary-eyed. 

“Let’s get you out of the tub, dried off and into bed, Love.” 

He wordlessly stands up, allowing her to towel him off before she walks him to bed. Briefly, she considers dealing with the tub of water before joining him but the allure of the warm bed and his arms around her is too enticing to resist so she undresses and slips into bed beside him. An arm wraps around her, pulling her close. 

Any memories of the horrible events of two years ago, of Asili’s lab and Burhan’s bullshit fade away and she concentrates on the feeling of safety and the knowledge that the life they have is more beautiful than she ever dared dream.


	20. The Bishop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petrus meets Elizabet.

It’s shocking just how much Elizabet De Sardet resembles Arelwin. So shocking that, were it not for the colour of her hair, he would have thought she has returned to life right in front of him. 

He tells himself not to stare. That it may be misconstrued as leering and not just him remembering the woman he’s loved for more than two decades now. 

They’re in a carriage - him, her Master of Arms, the Naut Captain and Elizabet and heading back to Sérène. Elizabet’s head rests upon the sailor’s shoulder and her eyes are shut, a casual gesture of intimacy that betrays how close they really are. While she’s been cautious about what she’s revealed to him regarding their relationship, he suspects even they don’t realize the significance of what they have. 

“So how come the two shrimpy folks share a bench and the two of us in heavy armour are stuck cuddling across from you?” The Master of Arms - Kurt grumbles. 

Neither Elizabet or Vasco wear heavy armour and neither are particularly tall. 

“Would you care to cuddle with me instead, then?” Vasco says in response. An attempt to provoke the Coin Guard. There’s a rivalry there. Not a competition for Elizabet’s affections but something else. Mutual distrust, perhaps. 

“You can take the bishop.” 

“Elizabet is sleeping. We can switch at the next stop,” Vasco says in response. 

Surprisingly the guard doesn’t protest. At the next stop Elizabet steps out of the carriage groggily, her hand in Vasco’s as he steadies her. He takes her off to the side to speak privately. The topic of their discussion is none of his business but he watches. 

Her face falls and she looks nervous. She says something and Vasco puts his arms around her. When they withdraw from the embrace she fidgets. 

The two of them make their way to the carriage. “I apologize. I had not been thinking and the two of you were uncomfortable on the first leg of our journey.” 

Kurt’s face softens. It’s clear this man is not the cold mercenary type he presents himself as. At least not where his charge is concerned. “Was mostly giving the sailor shit. You’re the important one; I can handle a little discomfort.” 

Still, their seating arrangement changes when they return into the carriage and she sits beside her guard and across from Vasco. Despite the reassurances, she still looks upset. Vasco rests a hand on her knee and smiles at her. 

Even when she was a young child he saw what he’s seeing now. The ever-present nervousness. As a child it showed itself in her shyness and by the way she would cling to her mother and her cousin, seeking comfort and reassurance. While she’s no longer shy or as quiet as she once was, her anxiety remains. And her lover is clearly aware of it and knows how to provide comfort. 

Politics will chew her up. She’s become skilled at hiding her true emotions from what he’s seen; far more skilled than she was as a young child. But if one is not cool and calm, mistakes can be made and when a person dances with a snake, any wrong move could mean death. 

It hurts to see Arelwin’s daughter in a life she’s so clearly unfit for; one that makes her unhappy. But he has to swallow that hurt down like bad medicine. A Congregation diplomat that resembles a Native stands a better chance at making inroads than anyone else. 

Perhaps that’s one reason she loves the Naut. He represents a different life for her. One she was born into; a secret known by very few. When Prince d’Orsay’s prized chess piece runs away from the life she was trained for, he is sure to be unhappy. 

But, as he watches the Naut rub her knee and speak to her with a softness he’s never actually heard in a sailor, he can’t be concerned about the Prince’s lost investment. Before Arelwin died, he made her a promise. That he would do everything he could to watch out for Elizabet. Duty and grief sent him back to Thélème after her death but now that he’s been reunited with her daughter he intends to keep his promise. 

If it’s a life with the sailor that she wants, then that is the life she will have. And if necessary, he will help her convince the prince that her freedom is more valuable to him than the alternative. When the time is right, of course. 

“Have I ever told you of the time I swam with a whole school of stingrays?” Vasco says suddenly. 

“No, you haven’t. What’s a sting ray?” 

“They’re flat fish with a long, barbed tail. Gentle creatures but if you piss ‘em off and they attack, the barb breaks off and it hurts like hell I’m told. Met a man who stepped on one once. Barb went right through his calf. Left a nasty scar.” 

“What an odd sounding creature. I’ll have to look in a reference book in search of an illustration,” Elizabet says. She’s perked up, no longer looking quite as anxious as she did just a few minutes ago. 

Kurt is fast asleep, his head resting against the wall of the carriage. 

“Anyways, I was snorkeling in a cove one afternoon during shore leave. Some of my brothers and sisters joined me and we rowed out there.” 

“What’s snorkeling?” He asks. 

“It’s when you use a hollow reed to breathe, allowing you to keep your face underwater. We’d heard the water was full of rays and wanted to see them for ourselves. We dove in, two at a time and there were hundreds in the cove. Found out later they were there because the water was unusually warm that year. They’re friendly things; the odd one would brush up against my hands. The four of us spent all day there and when I returned to shore I was red as a cooked lobster.” 

“What a magnificent thing to witness! I can hardly imagine such a thing. I’d love to see them someday.” 

“I’m sure I could take you, if you wished,” he says quietly to Elizabet and she blushes and looks down at the carriage floor, evidently realizing the subtext of his words. That his offer was not just to take her swimming. 

“Where was this?” He asks Vasco. 

“Off the coast of an island we’d sailed to.” 

That’s about as vague as one could possibly get, meaning that wherever he was is not a place meant for outsiders. So the Naut island, presumably. And if he’s offered to take Elizabet that would imply that he thinks she could one day become a Naut herself. 

He can’t help but be amused by the fact that Prince d’Orsay, for all of his scheming, is bound to lose the child he paid so dearly for to the Nauts he took her from. Were the prince a kinder man he might spare a bit of pity for him. 

That night, when they’ve made camp, he watches as the Naut captain sits by the fire, pulls her against his chest and kisses her mark tenderly, looking at her as if she is something precious. And in return she smiles and threads their fingers together. Watching is a foolish mistake on his part because the captain notices his lack of discretion. 

“Does this offend you, Bishop?” His tone is cold and he gets the impression the young captain does not particularly care whether his conduct offends him. 

He never got to touch Arelwin in this manner. Never allowed more than the privilege of holding her hand through the bars of her cell. Not a romantic gesture but one of comfort. 

“I am not offended,” he says honestly. 

Vasco’s eyes narrow. “Then why do you stare?” 

Occasionally he overheard the childish taunts of other Congregation children who found the mark on her face to be disturbing. Worse, he would sometimes hear adults make comments. Her mother taught her to ignore the cruel words but he could see the hurt in her eyes every time. 

“I am pleased she has someone she can trust who treats her with kindness. My child, I assume you’ve told him stories from your childhood?” 

“I have, yes.” Her eyes meet his briefly before darting back to watch the fire. 

“Do you miss Sérène?” 

It takes her a moment to formulate a response that’s appropriate. “I miss my mother,” she says, finally. 

He chuckles. “Well answered.” 

***

As the months go on and he travels with Elizabet and the team, he only finds himself growing more fond of her. There’s so much of Arelwin in her but he cannot tell her. Not yet. 

Elizabet is gentle. Too gentle, for someone in her role and frequently either him or Vasco end up discreetly whispering in her ear, providing some clever solution or silver-tongued response. She’s deeply, endearingly kind and loves those around her openly and without shame. A good person but not a skilled politician. At least, not in the long-term. For now, she’s good at pretending. But she’ll never be able to make the cold, calculated decisions needed to remain at the top long-term. 

He never thought he’d see someone of her station love as openly as she does. That she loves a Naut could hurt her reputation but she does not care. She didn’t before she found out the truth of her heritage and cares even less afterwards. 

That’s not to say she’s bad at her job. Quite the opposite; she’s very good at it in her own way. People like her because she’s honest, fair and kind. She keeps her promises. A non-politician in the role of one is refreshing to many. But you can only go so far with honesty and fairness. Assassination is another concern of his and the fact that she has a whole team of companions watching out for her is a relief. Her partner is protective and he doubts the Naut would allow anyone to get close enough to make an attempt on her life.

Eventually she’d learn the extent of his sins. He knew this. But despite this, he wasn’t ready for the disappointment on her face. Her quiet devastation. Her anger is sharp but not sharp enough. 

Vasco doesn’t say a word to him. At first he’s surprised that the sailor, who has never before hidden his thoughts from the team, has kept quiet. And then he realizes it’s an act of love. Elizabet would not benefit from his anger. 

On their journey to find her family, he remains quiet, generally only speaking to her. He holds her hand and speaks to her with the tenderness nobody else receives from him. And when she falls asleep in his arms that night by the fire, he gently carries her into their tent. That he returns is a surprise. He looks over at the young man whose eyes are boring into him. 

“Do you regret it?” His voice is low, presumably to avoid waking Elizabet. 

“Every day.” 

“As you should.” 

“You plan to leave with her one day. Get her away from this life.” 

“I don’t believe our plans are your concern. Especially not with what she’s just learned.” 

A fair point. Still, he continues. “I remember when she was little. How scared she was at court. She’s grown now but sometimes bits of the girl she was show through.” 

“My partner was kidnapped; of course she was uncomfortable amongst the snakes,” he snaps. 

“She’s Arelwin’s daughter in so many ways. Bits of Princess De Sardet show themselves; her skill in diplomacy is all her, and she’s a skilled dancer much like her adopted mother was. But it’s Arelwin who influenced her the most. A strange thing; I believe she was only about a month old when the prince ripped her from Arelwin’s arms.” 

“I don’t believe it’s me you should be telling this to.” 

He looks at the embers of their fire; it’s late and it has nearly burned itself out. “I suppose I’m a coward once more. I fear her anger. Or - her disappointment, more accurately.” 

Vasco sighs. “She knows almost nothing of her mum. There are many things about your actions that hurt her and that she could have learned more about her mum before now is just one of those things,” Vasco stands up. “Talk to her. I’m going to go and lie down next to her. Provide her with the comfort and support she needs as a result of all this.” With a very pointed glare he leaves, slipping into their tent. 

When she’s reunited with Slàn, for the first time in a very long time he’s felt as if he’s done some good in his life. As she hugs her aunt she smiles the way he’s only seen her smile with Vasco. A smile she reserves for moments of utmost joy. 

***

Sources tell him Prince d’Orsay is visiting New Sérène. Given that his only blood relative has now died, naming Elizabet as his heir seems to be a certainty. 

And if she cannot escape, it will be up to him to convince the prince that she is unfit to be his heir. For her benefit, of course. 

Only... he can’t get to New Sérène immediately. It’s three months before his obligations in San Matheus allow him to travel to New Sérène to visit the woman he thinks of as a daughter. He sends a note to the palace requesting a meeting at the cafe she enjoys. There is a better chance they’ll have some privacy there as opposed to at the palace itself. 

Elizabet is more relaxed than he’d expected her to be with her uncle at the palace. She greets him warmly and gives him a hug. 

“How do you fare, my child?” 

“I am well,” she says with a smile. “You look confused, Cardinal. Does my joy disappoint you?” 

“I was... not expecting you to look so carefree with... family in town.” 

She looks around and leans in, lowering her voice. “They departed two weeks ago. Suzette took ill.” 

The story appropriate for public but not the real one. “That is unfortunate. When will you be required to return to Sérène?” 

“I won’t. I have been deemed an inappropriate heir and stripped of all I was once entitled to,” she says brightly, far more pleased than anyone has ever sounded at the prospect of losing a fortune. 

“Did he disapprove of your marriage?” 

“Yes. Though that wasn’t the cause. Him and Vasco had a chat and when they returned, I was disinherited.” 

She speaks casually but he can read between the lines. Vasco threatened the prince in order to secure her freedom. Almost certainly at great risk to his own life. 

“Your husband is a courageous man.” He respects Vasco. The man is deeply intelligent, observant and what he lacks in diplomacy he makes up for in his concern for those he knows personally. 

“He’s promised me we’re safe. Both of us. But I’m scared. What do you think?” Her voice is hardly above a whisper and he has to strain to hear her. 

“I think Prince d’Orsay has learned his lesson from the first time he antagonized the Nauts. He will not do so again in order to obtain an heir who is not a blood relative or to exact revenge on the man who freed his heir from him. The two of you will be fine.”

“Were you in Sérène? The... first time, I mean.” 

He nods. “I was. It was ugly. For a time they stopped making port. Catastrophic for a nation that depends on trade. If the prince hadn’t sorted out the mess I feared I’d have to risk the journey back to Thélème on an overland route. The exact details of the reparations are a secret, but judging by his appearance at court during that time, he was raked over the coals. Your husband does not seem bothered to have been collateral damage in their conflict.” 

She looks at him in shock, gazing wordlessly, trying to figure out how he knows information she presumably thought was a closely held secret. “You two are the same age and he is the son of the d’Arcy family who was rather infamously in debt to Prince d’Orsay. And their debt was mysteriously forgiven. It was not difficult to figure out,” he says. “He knows, I assume?” 

“Yes. We don’t speak much of it but he knows that the reason he’s a Naut is because Adrien kidnapped me.” 

That she doesn’t use his title, either formal or familial speaks volumes of her feelings towards the man. It’s about as sharp an insult as one could ever receive from the woman across from him. 

He changes the subject. “You said he stripped you of all you were entitled. His estate?” 

“And Mother’s.” 

“Princess De Sardet would not have been happy about that.” Everyone at court knew how the princess adored her daughter. 

Elizabet’s eyes well up with tears and she wipes them away with a handkerchief before speaking. “I think Mother would be pleased to know that I will have a life that makes me happy. While I’d rather her wealth not go to Adrien, and would prefer to see it being used to do some good in this world, money means little to me.” 

“When will you two leave?” 

“How can I be sure this information won’t be used against me?” She speaks lightly but her concern is genuine. And he can’t blame her for it; she’s seen who he truly is. 

“Nothing you tell me will ever be used to hurt you. I promised Arelwin I’d watch over you and that is a promise I intend to keep.” 

The response is acceptable to her. “As soon as I’m sure things here on the island will remain peaceful and I’ve seen evidence of the continent healing. I’ll be a doctor and Vasco will accept his promotion to Commander.” 

Life as a Naut and a doctor is not something he would ever want but the genuine excitement she has when she tells him of their plans is heartwarming. 

“Arelwin would be proud of you. She told me once that she hoped you’d get to go home and wondered if you’d ever learn to heal. You were still a toddler at the time; I had no way of knowing if you’d ever develop magical abilities, let alone heal.” 

“I wish I could have known her,” she says softly. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“ _Modryb_ Slàn has told me stories. She’s also told me a few of my dad. His name was Niclas and he was a hunter. That he was witty and desperately protective of those he loved.” 

“It sounds as if you and Arelwin have similar taste in men.” 

Elizabet laughs a little. “ _Modryb_ Slàn has said that to us more than once.”


	21. Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabet finds out what his tattoos mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world is on fire so have some fluff.

“I’ve never told you what they all mean.” 

Fingers that were running along the intricate lines on his body pause as she looks up at his face. “No. Just the ones on your face and fingers. Do they all have a meaning?” 

“Yes. Some more important than others.” 

Vasco told her once that major accomplishments are celebrated on one’s face. While there are tattoos formally given for certain achievements that are placed elsewhere, generally one’s body is reserved for stories of a more personal nature. 

Her lover is more tattooed than many Nauts his age. But he’s survived far more than most. 

She runs her fingers along his collarbone to the large swirls that cover the right side of his chest. “This one?” 

“The ship I took my first steps on. She was called the Maelstrom. Ended up running aground a few years back.” 

The left side of his chest remains uninked. Vasco once told her the area over his heart is meant for a story that has yet to find its end. 

Her hand moves to his left bicep, to the sea horse designed to be made up of several elegantly formed lines and shapes. “I think I know what this one means.” 

“Not a difficult one to guess.” 

There are a few small bones tattooed on the inner bicep of that arm. She touches them gently. “Every crew member I’ve lost,” he says quietly. 

His right bicep remains untattooed. “Saving this spot for anything in particular?” 

Vasco shrugs. “The right story will show itself when the time is right.” 

Both his forearms feature similar geometric designs that end just past his wrists. Some shapes are filled with ink, others are made up of patterns of lines or dots. She touches both of his arms. “A tattoo artist I grew up with designed these. He knew me well and says it’s a reflection of me. My values and my personality. And, presumably, my flaws.”

“And you did this all at once?” 

Vasco laughs. “Oh no. It was four long sessions to do both arms.” 

Three large, thick, and curled lines in the shape of waves on each side of his body wrap around the entirety of his rib cage. They’re fully filled in and easily the most bold of the tattoos on his body. And the most painful one to get, apparently. She runs her fingers over them and he chuckles. “Am I tickling you?” 

“You are. The meaning of that one is simple. It’s the sea.” 

“Why did you get that one done all in one session? Why not do it over several like you did with your arms?” 

“Because it hurt enough that I wasn’t sure I’d ever get it finished if I stopped.” 

The abstract patterns on his abdomen have always reminded her a little of weather. Rain and lightning and wind. Clouds and a sphere that resembles the sun. “Inclement weather?” She asks as she touches him. 

“A reminder to respect what nature throws at me.” 

Jagged teeth of varying sizes run across his upper back just below his neck. “The dangerous beasts I’ve killed at sea.” 

“So not the fish you’ve caught,” she says, smirking. 

“No. Killed a shark that attacked the boat I was in once. A siren, on another occasion. Stuffed cotton in my ears so I wouldn’t be drawn in by it. I was swimming and fought off an electric eel. Just a juvenile; I doubt it would have been able to kill me. Shocks hurt like hell though.” 

Below on his right shoulder blade are a pistol and a rapier. “Your weapons of choice,” she says simply. 

“Another easy one.” 

“Why get it on your back?” 

“Because even if my back happens to be turned I want any attacker to know I’m dangerous and ready to kill if necessary.” 

Not that he’s likely to have his shirt off when going into battle but the metaphor works. 

A series of strange numbers are on his left shoulder blade. “What do these mean?” 

“The coordinates of every place I’ve ever made port.” 

There’s a lot of them. “You’re well travelled.” 

“I am a Naut, Tempest.” 

“Which port is your favourite?” 

“Hard to say now. I suspect if I had to choose it would be this one,” he reaches back and points at a series of numbers towards the end of the list. 

“Am I allowed to know which port that is?” 

Vasco hesitates briefly. “It is probably fine. New Sérène.” 

“And why is it your favourite?” 

He turns his head and captures her lips in a kiss. “Because the woman I love is in New Sérène.” Coming from some, his words would seem silly or inauthentic, but from him, they’re entirely genuine and desperately romantic. 

“Do you have plans for any others?” She asks when they break apart. 

“I do.” She looks expectantly at him and he breaks out into a grin. “I couldn’t possibly spoil the surprise, could I?” 

His response makes her smile and makes her heart flutter with joy. What they have is new; it was only a few weeks ago that Vasco confessed his feelings, but it feels right. 

“You’ll be there when I get my first?” 

“I wouldn’t miss it.”


	22. The Old Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation with the captain of the ship that took Arelwin to Sérène.

He wakes for the first time in their cabin in the port of New Sérène. A fleet commander and a doctor. His wife having taken back the name and identity gifted to her by her mum at birth. Alys sleeps beside him, the tattoo on her face fresh and raw. He winces, remembering when he got the tattoo marking him as sea given at 17. It would hurt her now, but he doubts she’ll say a word of complaint. She’s too happy. 

There is one thing on his mind. Something he’d like to talk to her about over breakfast. Quietly, so as not to wake her, he slides out of bed and makes his way into the kitchen. The smell of sausages frying must wake her up because she walks, bleary-eyed into the kitchen and gives him a kiss on the cheek. 

“Shall I get tea going?” 

“I can do it once I’m done here if you’d like to relax.” 

“Allow me.” She takes the kettle and walks out to the well to fill it before lighting a burner and placing it on the stove. 

He cracks eggs into the pan and pulls two plates out of the cupboard as Alys pours the freshly boiled water into their tea pot. 

“I like this,” she says. “Making breakfast with you.” 

They sit at their table and eat. Alys is bright and cheerful, not always a common thing in the mornings and he wonders if he should wait to talk to her. 

“There’s something on your mind,” she says, making the topic unavoidable. “Are you well?” 

He smiles at her to reassure her. “Perfect. My wife is home at last and working alongside me as a doctor. How could I be any better?” 

“Still, something bothers you.” 

He takes a forkful of egg and shoves it in his mouth, giving him a moment to consider his words. She watches him patiently. “I’ve been thinking of what happened to you and your mum. It was your uncle who ordered it, but the Nauts allowed it. It’s a shameful thing and I’d like to address it with Admiral Cabral, if you would allow me.” 

She nods. “We stopped more than one instance of attempted human trafficking over the last few years.” 

“We have. I swear to you that I would never allow any of the ships in my fleet to take part in such a thing. But that’s not enough. There are captains out there willing to turn a blind eye to it. Others who happily become participant in these crimes for the right price - off the books of course. And I’m in a position to speak out against it.” 

“You’ll ask Admiral Cabral to put a stop to it, then?” 

“Pressure her to bring the matter to the rest of the admiralty. It’s not legal according to our laws and hasn’t been for decades but it’s too easy to flout the laws. And those that do aren’t punished appropriately.” 

“It would make me happy to know that what happened to Mum and I never happens to another person. I’m - not angry with the captain who took the job. That person has to live with what they allowed to happen on their ship. The bulk of my anger rests on Adrien’s shoulders.” 

“You may not be but I am. What they did is shameful and I’d like to confront them as well, with your permission.” 

He won’t chew anyone out on her behalf if she does not wish him to do so. 

She takes a final bite of sausage and takes their plates to the sink, washing them using water she’d fetched from the well earlier. “I would not be opposed to you speaking with this person if they are still alive. Would Admiral Cabral tell you who they are?” 

“I have no doubt she would if I asked. You know her; she’ll be fully in favour of doing more to put a stop to our ships being used to traffic people. Would you like to come with me?” 

Her hands still and she turns, water and soap dripping onto the floor from her wet fingers. “I would not want to cause trouble,” she says quietly. 

Standing up for herself is something Alys frequently struggles with. A product of growing up with Adrien d’Orsay. He does not wish to pressure her but suspects she will feel better if she’s involved. He places his hands on her arms. “Think of it as standing up for all of the people like you and your mum. The admiral knows your story but has never heard in detail how it’s affected you.” 

She nods. “I would rather not be present if you ever speak with the captain, however.” 

Something that doesn’t surprise him. Such a confrontation would cause her anxiety to flare up and she’s certainly aware that he will not be diplomatic with the person. They’ll survive the encounter, to be sure, but he intends to make sure they fully understand what they’ve done and the consequences they’d have faced if they did the same thing today. 

And if they are still trafficking people? Well, he’ll haul them to their island personally to ensure they face trial. 

“Can we wait a few days before meeting with the admiral? I’d like to think about what I’ll say.” 

“Of course. Shall I speak with her today and set a meeting for next week?” 

***

It’s always been Adrien d’Orsay who holds the majority of the anger she feels over what happened to her. It was his scheme, his money, and his orders. 

It’s an anger she’ll have for the rest of her life. An anger intense enough that she no longer feels as if she was ever a Congregation citizen, despite having been New Sérène’s governor until recently. Can’t be a citizen of a nation when you and your mum were kidnapped. No, she’s a Native and she’s a Naut.

But Vasco’s desire to ensure this doesn’t happen to anyone else is important. And she wants to help, which means acknowledging that it wasn’t just Adrien who participated in the crime committed against her, Mum and the villagers of Vignamri. 

Someone in the Nauts turned a blind eye and let it happen. A member of her family. And it hurts to think about. 

Vasco’s arm is wrapped around her shoulders as they walk to the admiral’s office. Admiral Cabral greets them politely and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. 

It’s early evening but she hadn’t expected it to be this sort of meeting. 

“Vasco told me you’re fond of fine whiskey just as he is. Shall we have a drink?” 

“A drink would be lovely, thank you.” 

She takes a sip - it’s a fine whiskey, of Congregation origin she suspects. “You are a whiskey drinker as well, then, Admiral?” 

Vasco laughs and Admiral Cabral looks over at him. “Alys has been bugging me about your drink preferences for several years. She wishes to hear stories from my wayward youth.” 

“You need not bribe me in order to hear stories from his childhood. Though, if you must know, I favour _Orujo_ , brandy made from the fruits on our island. Had you been able to get a hold of a bottle during your days as a Congregation politician I would have been quite impressed.” 

“I’m sure I could have bribed a sailor to part with a bottle from their personal stash...I would be pleased to hear a story about Vasco if you’re willing to indulge me this evening.” 

“I can oblige, though I suspect Commander Vasco did not call this meeting so I could embarrass him.” 

Vasco clears this throat. “Yes, it concerns matters that are rather more serious. Human trafficking. I’m well aware it’s a crime and that, if a captain is caught, they are subject to imprisonment or even execution if they’re found guilty. But it still happens far too often. Alys and I stopped instances of it several times and freed those who had been kidnapped. It’s too easy to get away with it... and my wife is proof of that.” 

The admiral takes a sip of her drink. “It is a concern. I caught Captain Claudio just a year ago. Stripped him of his ship and sent him to our island for trial.” 

“But it’s still happening and that concerns me. The smarter ones hide it by placing people in cabins. Make it look as if they are passengers and not people who’ve been kidnapped. I’m here to ask that you bring our concerns to the rest of the admirals. Have them really clamp down on this as I will in my fleet.” 

He speaks with conviction and takes her hand in his as he finishes. 

“I will. I’d always intended to anyway. But you know what things are like in our leadership. Change moves slower than a ship on a windless sea. However, you’re persistent. And I would encourage you to make it clear to the other admirals that this is a cause you will not let go. Though I doubt you’ll need my encouragement,” she adds with a smile. 

“You’re right; I won’t let it go until appropriate measures are in place that ensures nobody boards one of our ships without consenting to do so. To do any less would be disrespecting Alys and her mum.” 

She takes a deep breath. If she’s going to talk about it, now is the time. “I think often about how scared Mum must have been. To not only be stuck on a strange vessel at sea, but to have been forcibly taken from her family. I’ve been told Dad died trying to save her. She had to watch as her love died, unable to do anything,” her voice breaks and her eyes well up, “I can’t imagine enduring that - just the thought of losing Vasco in that way... and then to lose her daughter as well. What happened to me was wrong and it angers me but what was done to Mum was so much worse. So I would ask that when telling the story, don’t focus on me. Focus on Arelwin. Because I found my way home. Mum was never able to.” 

“Arelwin’s story will be a secret no longer,” Admiral Cabral says in response. 

“May I make one last request before we move on to happier topics?” Vasco asks. 

“Yes?”

“What was the name of the captain of the ship that took her?” 

She hesitates briefly. “That is information you’re entitled to according to your rank. You aren’t planning anything... regrettable, are you?” 

“They will leave my presence alive but properly shamed.” 

The admiral pulls a piece of parchment out of her notebook, writes a name and hands it to him. “Apologies Doctor Alys but it’s not information I can share directly with you. As you can understand, the details of that voyage have been kept secret. I know little more than the name of the captain of the ship.” She’s aware; when her, Vasco and Petrus visited Admiral Cabral several years ago in search of her family, she hadn’t known what village they’d taken her mum from. 

Vasco looks at the parchment before folding it and putting it in his pocket. He sips his drink. “So, how am I to be embarrassed this evening?” 

Admiral Cabral sits and thinks for a moment. “I have a good one. It was the middle of summer and lessons were finished on the island so Vasco was placed on my ship. Our voyage was about a month long and little Vasco was soaking in everything people were willing to teach him. Smart little boy.” 

“Suppose there are no portraits of him as a child floating about?” 

The admiral chuckles. “Not a chance. He was cute, though. His hair was more fair back then though he still wore it long. It was always in his eyes but I did once manage to get him to sit still long enough to trim it.” 

Vasco’s cheeks are a little flushed and she gives him a kiss. “Always knew you had to have been cute when you were little.” 

He snorts in response. “I was a terror. Don’t envy you dealing with me, Admiral.” 

“I’ve handled worse,” she says dismissively. “One afternoon it was particularly hot and tempers were flaring. No wind, so there was no breeze to cool off and - worse, the ship wasn’t moving. Vasco didn’t understand that the crew were frustrated and he tested one woman’s patience when he insisted she listen to him explain tacking. To your credit, Vasco, your knowledge on the subject at six years old was impressive, but he was told in no uncertain terms to go away.” 

“Believe Lucy told me to fuck off,” Vasco adds lightly. 

“It was several hours later when the crew realized they hadn’t seen you for awhile. Lucy was despondent, convinced you must have fallen overboard and confessed to having lost her temper with you. But I knew better; you’d fallen overboard the summer before and just barely lived through the experience. Not a mistake you’d make again.” 

“Was he on your ship when he fell overboard?” 

“He was. Someone dove in after him before I could but I was the one who got him breathing again. Got vomited on for my efforts. Ended up bringing him to my quarters and tending to him. As a doctor I am sure you are aware of the dangers of near drowning and the importance of watching survivors closely in the following days.” 

Alys turns to him. “You never told me that was Admiral Cabral!” 

He rubs his neck, looking sheepish. “I suppose I did leave that part out.” 

“Anyways, my search for him ended in the cargo hold. He was hiding behind several crates. Not sure how you stayed down there as long as you did, Vasco; it was damned hot in the hold.”

“So he was hiding from Lucy, then?” 

The admiral shakes her head. “He’d found a knife somewhere and carved a tacking diagram into the hull.” 

She bursts out laughing and when she finally calms, looks over at Vasco who is blushing but chuckling fondly at the memory. “Love, you were a little shit.” She turns to Admiral Cabral. “Did you punish him?” 

“Told him not to do it again but I could hardly punish him more severely after such an impressive display of knowledge.” The admiral pours the three of them fresh drinks. 

“You were far more decent than others I sailed with growing up,” Vasco says. 

“You saw a lot of him as a child, then?” 

“He sailed with me most summers when he was little. Knew he was bright and kept my eye on him as he grew up.” 

One thing that was evident to her fairly quickly is the fondness Admiral Cabral has for Vasco. It’s subtle, and she knows him well enough to know what he needs in order to excel, even if it’s not what he wants at the time. Years after the fact, he has admitted that laying him off was the best thing she could have done for him even though he was furious with her at the time. 

It was a clever thing, to send him off with her in hopes they would both figure out who they really are together. That he would accept his life as a Naut and bring her home with him. 

“I expect the admiralty will be pleased to have won back their lost Sea Born,” she says, changing the subject. 

“They will be. It’s a shame; the admiral who served the Congregation at that time - Tobias, died a few years back. He spent many hours fighting and then negotiating with Prince d’Orsay. Nobody would have been happier to have you home than him,” she says, pausing before amending her words, “save for your husband, of course.” 

***

Quinn. That’s the name of the captain who allowed Alys’ mum on board. It takes more than a year of subtle inquiries before someone knows where he is. Retired, apparently, and settled on their island. 

Alys wants no part in finding the man. “You have things you wish to say to him but I don’t. I don’t even want to know his name,” she told him the night they met with Admiral Cabral. He will respect her wishes and leave her out of his search. 

Their island is magnificent and it’s a joy to see Alys’ eyes go wide the first time they make port there. It’s rugged with multicoloured buildings built so they’re touching; long blocks full of buildings with beautiful balconies. The roads are cobbled and outside town there are numerous hiking trails that mostly go unused. On each side of the island there is a separate port; this time they’re sailing into the southern port, the one nearest to the various shops run by Nauts unable to go to sea, whether it’s due to age, injury or lack of seafaring ability. 

They’ll be here a week and a half. His days will be full of meetings with the admirals on the island; an opportunity to bring up his concerns about the Naut’s history of turning a blind eye to human trafficking. Evenings will be spent with Alys - showing her around town and introducing her to their fellow Nauts. 

One afternoon he kept free. A discreet bribe to one of the assistants in port gave him the information he needed. Quinn’s address. 

His home is at the end of a row of houses and looks ill-kept compared to the others on the block. There are no plants out front and the wood is in terrible need of paint. As he knocks he winces, noticing the unsanded wood has splintered into his knuckles. The door opens. 

The man looks to be in his mid-70s and beat up by a lifetime at sea. He stands hunched over, holds a cane, and there is deep scarring over the left side of his face. Whatever injury left the scarring evidently took his eye because he wears an eyepatch. “What do you want?” The man demands, sounding worn. 

“I am Commander Vasco. May I come in?” 

“And what would a commander want with me? I retired fifteen years ago when I was told I couldn’t sail with a bad back and knees that don’t work properly no more.” 

“I’ve heard tales of one of your voyages. I wished to hear your side of it.” 

“Make it quick, then; I’ve got a lot of sitting to do,” he grumbles as he steps aside. His home smells of stale tobacco, liquor and wood rot; empty liquor bottles and other rubbish litters the floors. Apparently he has no one to care for him in his old age. He’d pity the man if he was not involved in the kidnapping of his wife and mother-in-law. 

He sits on a dusty chair. The man sits across from him. “Well?” 

“I’m here to ask about the voyage you took to Tír Fradí that took you to the village with the whale bones. Vignamri.” 

Quinn’s face falls; it’s clear he knows exactly the one he refers to. “What of it?” He demands. 

“Why? Why would you allow the Congregation to steal a pregnant woman away from her village? To allow them to slaughter innocent people who sought only to protect one of their own?” 

“And why do you care?” 

“Because trafficking people is wrong!” He doesn’t want to reveal that it is personal if he doesn’t have to; Alys wants nothing to do with this. 

“And you think I don’t know that?” 

“Apparently not because you let it happen.” 

“I wasn’t told!” He shouts. Vasco raises his eyebrow at the man. “They told me they only wished to observe. It wasn’t until we grew close to the island that I learned the truth. The poor woman had her own quarters; she wasn’t in the brig.” 

“That’s how you hid it,” he says coldly. “You put her in a nice cabin and acted as if she volunteered to leave with them.”

“Yes,” he says quietly. “If I hadn’t done it they’d have killed me and found someone on my ship who would. What would you have me do?” 

“Die. I’d sooner die than do what you did to her and her daughter.” 

Quinn perks up. “The girl ended up being a secret; nobody is ‘sposed to know about her. How do you know? You’re just a young thing. Can hardly believe they’d make a man young as you a commander.”

“I know her.” An understatement. 

“Nobility grabbed her. You walk in noble circles then?” 

“I did for a time a few years back. She was the legate of the Congregation of Merchants on Tír Fradí when I met her. It hurt her deeply to learn the truth. And because of what was done to her and her mum, I’m lobbying to make sure people like you don’t escape the justice you deserve.” 

“I woulda been thrown in jail for it were it not for the secrecy clause those noble folks managed to negotiate. Can’t send me to the brig if nobody can know what I did. Lost my ship, though; spent the rest of my career doing the work nobody else wanted to do. Damned embarrassing; I was good at the job.” 

That he can even think of his personal humiliation over what Alys and her mother went through infuriates him. “Her mother had her daughter stolen from her and spent the rest of her life in a prison! And she was raised in a culture that was not hers, never feeling as if she belonged, and not knowing who she truly was. Do you have even the faintest idea what that does to a person? How much it affected her? And all of this was because you were too much of a coward to stand up to some spoiled blue bloods.” 

The man across from him looks ashamed now. “I tried to warn the woman. She didn’t speak a word of our tongue. Tried to show her some kindness when the Congregation passengers let me in to check on her.” 

“Are you looking for praise for showing basic fucking decency?” 

“Why do you care so much anyway? You knew the woman at one point but so what? We’ve all survived shit. You’re Sea Given; I lost my ship and had my eye plucked out. At least she wears fancy clothes and sleeps in a nice bed,” he gestures around his filthy cabin as if to try to make a point. 

“I care for her. She’s a good woman.” He loves her in a way he never expected or dared hope to love another. To say he only cares for her feels like he’s doing a disservice to what they have. 

“You fucked her, didn’t you? Good on you; never had a noble, myself.” He can tell the man is attempting to deflect and change the subject. 

“A woman died because of your actions! She died away from her daughter, her loved ones and her home. Her _minundhanem_ and many others died trying to save her. So I’m here to remind you of what you did. Because you should feel shame every single day for the rest of your miserable, lonely life. And if I had a say in it I’d have you put on trial now for what you did all those years ago.” 

“Lucky for me you don’t, then,” his tone is defiant but there’s a slight tremor in his voice that reveals his words have had an impact. “You need to leave.” 

Ranting and arguing with the man further will do no good. So he stands up and makes his way to the door. Before turning the knob he pauses. “You may be alone, living in squalor in a dilapidated home, drinking and smoking yourself to death but it’s a better end than what Arelwin had. And that is your fault.” Without another word he opens the door and leaves. 

When imagining this confrontation he always assumed he’d feel at peace or satisfied after meeting Quinn and shaming him for his actions. But he doesn’t. He’s angry about what he did. About the fact that he will never face justice for it. And it hurts him to think of Alys’ mum suffering because of the crimes of so many who saw her as less than them. 

He’s still morose when he returns to the cabin assigned to him and Alys to use while they’re on the island. Alys is reading outside on the porch and smiles when she sees him. He tries so hard to return it, but she sees through it immediately. Standing up, she puts down her book and embraces him. “Hard day?” 

“Yes. A difficult meeting.” 

She doesn’t ask him about it. Recognizing his rank gives him access to information that she is not privy to means it’s up to him to elaborate if he’s able to discuss it. But Alys wants to know nothing about the man. This burden is his own. 

“Would you feel better if we went for a walk? Or would you rather stay here?” 

Going into town and discovering bits of her culture that she had not known about has been a pleasure and something he won’t deny her tonight. “Allow me to change and we can go into town.” 

That night they end up at a beach-side restaurant where they’re served fish caught on the dock just a few metres away. It delights her. “This is just fantastic; I’ve never had fish like this before!” 

“Has there ever been a noble you’ve known who has picked up a rod and caught their own dinner?” 

She laughs at the very thought of it. “No. Hunting is a frequent pastime, though. Many breed dogs specifically for it. They’ll chase animals or retrieve downed birds. And then hand their kill off to the cooks to prepare and hire taxidermists to display the creature as a trophy.” 

Taxidermy is something that has always baffled him. “Nobles are bloody strange.”

“You are correct.” 

“What was he like?” She asks, abruptly changing the subject. 

How did she know? He looks blankly at her. “Even if you can’t tell me what was discussed at a meeting that stressed you out, you’ve never before missed an opportunity to complain about someone that bothered you,” she explains. 

Alys wants to know nothing of this man but has the grace to ask anyway so she can console him. “It’s fine. You told me you didn’t want to know about him.” 

She rests her hand on his knee under the table. “Seeing you hurt and frustrated is worse than learning about the man. Get it off your chest, Love. I’m here.” 

“He’s old. Sick. Bad back and legs, missing an eye and I expect I’m the first visitor he’s had in near a decade. Floor is covered with rubbish; drink bottles, cigarettes and countless other things. He was combative but I saw the guilt. The shame. While he lost his ship over it he never faced justice as he should have and that doesn’t sit well with me.” 

She smiles sadly at him. “The world isn’t fair. But he’s sick and alone. You talked to him and shamed him. Let that be enough.” 

He nods his head in agreement. 

“You have another meeting tomorrow?”

“With a few other fleet commanders. We can go out in the evening if you’d like.” 

“Where does this man live?” 

“Why?” What could she possibly want this information for? 

“He won’t die by my hand. I’m just curious to see what his home looks like.” 

***

The house in front of her is worse than she ever imagined. In many ways it reminds her of the shacks the poorest people lived in back in Sérène. Taking a deep breath, she walks up and knocks on the door before she can change her mind. 

A cane tapping on the floor tells her he is on his way to answer. Eventually the door opens. “What do you want?” He demands angrily before looking at her face. His anger disappears; replaced by fear. 

Her mark always gives her away. 

“My name is Doctor Alys. Commander Vasco told me he visited with a man who is in poor health. I thought I would offer to look you over,” she gestures to the medical bag slung over her shoulder. 

Still looking frightened, he invites her in. She takes his arm and gently helps him to his chair. “Would you allow me to look you over?” 

“Why are you here?” 

“Because you are in need of care.” 

“No!” He snaps. “On our island. The nobles took you but here you are. You’re supposed to be a noble, not a Naut.” 

“You can’t be a noble when you were kidnapped. They may have dressed me as one and taught me like one but I’m not a noble or a Congregation subject. Never was. I’m a Native and I’m a Naut. Now, would you tell me your name?” 

“The fleet commander didn’t tell you?” 

“I’d told him I wanted to know nothing about you,” she responds quietly. “But he was so out of sorts last night that I got the story out of him. Seeing him so upset was worse than knowing about you is.” 

“Quinn. How do I know you aren’t going to kill me?” 

“Because, unlike my husband, the bulk of my anger rests with Adrien d’Orsay. You must live with what you did and I daresay it’s had an effect on you,” she says, looking around the dilapidated and filthy room. 

“And if I refuse treatment?” 

“Then I leave and you’ll never see me again.” 

“What can be done?” The man looks skeptical. 

“I would need to examine you with my magic first. May I?” 

“Go on,” he says with a sigh. Her examination reveals his back and knees are riddled with arthritis; likely a result of a lifetime at sea. His liver and lungs are in poor shape as a result of his fondness for drink and cigarettes, though his face, while scarred, seems to have healed cleanly enough. 

At an estimate, this man will likely only live another year or so, given the condition of his liver. “I can numb the pain in your back and knees but it will not last long. There are potions I can leave with you and some stretches I can teach you to help with the stiffness. As for your lungs and liver... you’d have to quit smoking and drinking to even have a chance at seeing improvement.”

Quinn scoffs. “Let me have my vices.” 

“I’d suspected you would say that. Would you like a prognosis?” 

“Don’t want to know. I’ll die when I die and good riddance to this miserable life.” 

She numbs his back and knees and shows him a variety of stretches he can do to help. As he goes through them he can hardly look at her.

“Do these twice a day if you are able and you should see a slight improvement in your mobility.”

“Thank you,” he says, still refusing to look at her. 

“Would you like me to tidy a little before I leave? It must be difficult for you to clean in your condition.” 

“You don’t need to do that!” He stammers. 

“I’m well aware. My husband is in meetings all afternoon and I’m not needed anywhere else so I thought I’d offer.” 

It’s obvious he doesn’t want her to help. That he needs so much help must be a harsh blow to his pride. And that it’s the daughter of the kidnapped woman he allowed on his ship makes it sting worse. “Just the floors. There’s a rubbish bin out back,” he says, looking down at the floor. 

Without another word she gets to work, picking up bottles and putting them in the bin in the back. She doesn’t pay the man much attention as he works, not until she hears a muffled sob and realizes the man is crying. Torn between offering help and pretending not to see to spare a shamed man’s dignity, she stands awkwardly before deciding compassion is the way to go. She hands him an embroidered handkerchief and he blows his nose. “It’s far fancier than any handkerchief I’ve ever seen,” he says, trying to sound light. 

“Well, I did live as a noble for a time. Keep it; Vasco and I have plenty of others back on the ship.” She turns and gets back to tidying as he sits and calms himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he says once she’s finished. “I don’t deserve your kindness.” 

“I’m a doctor. I heal people. And, when called upon, I help clean,” she says simply. 

“Please forgive me. I regretted it. Not just because I lost everything for it. I saw you at your mother’s breast and she loved you. As scared as she was stuck in that cabin she only had love in her eyes once you came out of her belly. I helped them hurt her. Not directly but I allowed it and I’m so sorry.” 

Hearing something new about her mum is a beautiful thing, despite who she’s hearing it from. “Thank you for telling me that,” she whispers. 

“Forgive me, Doctor. Please,” he begs. 

“I - it is not my forgiveness you must seek but my mum’s. And you cannot seek it because she died long ago, alone and far away from her home and family. And I will not offer it on her behalf.”

“I understand,” he says, looking crestfallen. 

“I should get back to our cabin. Shall I ask around and see if someone would be willing to look in on you and help you out with your chores?” 

He shakes his head. “No. I made my bed and I’ll lie in it the rest of my days.” 

“Very well. Goodbye, then.” 

Quinn doesn’t say anything in response but as she leaves and closes the door behind her, she can hear the sound of renewed sobbing through the door. As she walks, she feels her own eyes burn with tears that she refuses to let fall. 

“I learned something new about Mum. That is a good thing,” she reminds herself. 

When Vasco returns she practically launches herself at him and he catches her and holds her without missing a beat. “How did it go?” He says, his breath brushing against her cheek as he speaks. 

“He cried.”

Vasco kisses her on the cheek. “What did you end up doing?”

His arms around her is the comfort she most needed and she finds the anxiety starting to dissipate. “I did the most hurtful thing of all. I was kind to him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been slower with posting lately - but with good reason! I’m working on a few other writing projects within this universe; one of which I’ve begun posting. I am working on another long form story featuring Elizabet/Alys and Vasco but I’m waiting until I’ve gotten a bit further in before posting. Keep your eyes open, though!


	23. Voyage to Sérène

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabet is called back to Sérène.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this months ago and then never posted it. It’s Christmas, and COVID has made it miserable so please enjoy the NSFW in lieu of traditional holiday festivities.

“What do you mean I’m being called back to Sérène?” The very idea of it is baffling; she’s the Governor of New Sérène and will remain so until she sees the evidence that the world is ready for her to disappear.   
  
“The Regent –“ Lady Morange starts.   
  
“Regent?” Elizabet interrupts, sounding rather shocked.   
  
“Your Aunt Suzette has taken ill and has retired to the countryside. His Highness has joined her,” Mr. De Courcillon says.   
  
“So he will not be in Sérène for the duration of my visit?” She will refuse the order if there’s any chance she will encounter Adrien.   
  
“No, he intends to remain until his wife recovers or….doesn’t.”   
  
In the back of her mind, Elizabet wonders if the illness is natural. She has her doubts; her aunt is no longer able to give Adrien another heir, and there are slow-acting poisons that mimic an illness. As an assassin, quick-acting poisons are what Suzette knows; the slower ones could very well be a blind spot.   
  
“What a doting husband,” she says, attempting to sound polite. Neither Mr. De Courcillon or Lady Morange believe her, given their expressions.   
  
Still, they’re polite enough to ignore it. “You will engage in recruitment activities to encourage more members of the nobility to invest in New Sérène and move to the city. The expectation is that you will remain in the city, taking meetings and attending social events for six months.” Lady Morange says.   
  
“And when will I be leaving?”   
  
“We’d hoped your husband would be willing to make those arrangements. He would know who could be trusted with the journey. But it would be ideal if you made your departure in the next two months.”   
  
She laughs. “If you’re looking for the best, that would be my husband. And I have no doubt Admiral Cabral will be willing to have him at the helm for our journey.”   
  
***  
  
Vasco’s eyes light up when she gives him the news that he’s returning home for a few months. “I’ll speak with the admiral tomorrow. I have no doubt a voyage can be arranged within the next two months.”   
  
“There will be a benefit to returning to Sérène.”  
  
“There is?”   
  
“I’ll be able to see what the city looks like. If it’s looking promising then we can leave for good after this trip. Things here on Tír Fradí are stable and I suspect I’m no longer needed.”   
  
“Bringing my wife home will fill me with such joy,” he says, as he pulls her close.   
  
It’s late when she remembers Suzette’s condition. Vasco’s half-asleep next to her, sated after a night of lovemaking; a celebration of change on the horizon. “Love?”   
  
“Hmm?” One eye opens and he looks at her.   
  
“If you wanted to kill someone slowly, what poison would you use?”   
  
Vasco’s fully awake now and sits up. “Someone need killing?”   
  
“No, but I suspect Adrien could be disposing of Suzette via a slow-acting poison.”   
  
He considers. “I stick to the quick-acting poisons. Not fond of the idea of making someone suffer before they die. But, if you’re looking to make a death look like an illness, arsenic is a good bet.”   
  
Now that he says it, she has heard anecdotes about arsenic poisoning amongst the nobility. “Symptoms aren’t obviously connected to poison?”   
  
“No. And if it’s done at a small enough dose over a long enough period…”   
  
“Nobody would suspect a thing.”   
  
“Crafty fucker.”   
  
“Almost sounds like you respect him.”   
  
“Could never respect the man, but I can admit he’s clever. Glad you’re free of him, Tempest.”   
  
Thanks to him, and whatever he did that day in the woods to secure her freedom. “We won’t see him while we’re in Sérène.”   
  
He leans over and gives her a kiss. “Good.”   
  
***  
  
Boarding the Sea Horse feels like returning home – not just for Vasco but for her too. As Vasco gives orders on deck, she’s organizing their luggage in their quarters. Once finished here, she’ll go to the infirmary and do her best to get things set up there. While not a Naut officially, she will be treating any injuries or illness that comes up.   
  
He collapses into bed, exhausted but happy that night, and she wraps an arm around him.   
  
She wakes the next morning to him kissing her shoulder and fondling one of her breasts. “I’d like to make love to my wife in our bed at sea,” he murmurs when he sees that she’s awake.   
  
“We did consummate our second marriage in this bed and we were at sea then,” she teases.   
  
“It wasn’t quite the same; she was anchored then. Now we’re at sea properly.”   
  
“You have time?”   
  
“Time enough,” he nibbles at her neck before whispering in her ear, “walls are thin, Tempest, you may wish to be quiet.”   
  
Ah, the lack of privacy. Something she’s going to have to get used to. “I suspect everyone will know regardless.”   
  
“Aye, but we may get a day or two free of ribbing if we manage to keep it down.”   
  
“Well then, best keep me quiet,” she says; challenging him.   
  
Vasco rolls her onto her back before climbing on top of her, kissing her roughly. “Tap me three times if you need to stop?”   
  
His question sends a spark of need to her core and she kisses him again. “Yes, Love,” she says, somewhat breathlessly. His mouth leaves hers and he covers her mouth with his hand before nipping his way down her body.   
  
Being silenced in this way; completely at his mercy makes her ache and when Vasco finds her folds dripping with arousal he moans softly in approval before licking a stripe up her slit, tasting her. He settles between her legs and pleasures her with slow sweeps of his tongue, just barely caressing her clit. Where normally she’d moan and plead with him; she cannot, and so she writhes, trying to find her pleasure.   
  
He chuckles. “So impatient.” His tongue returns to her folds, penetrating her, his free arm moving to her hips, holding her still. Slowly, torturously slow, his tongue sweeps over her clit, setting a rhythm that will eventually bring her to orgasm. Her need is overwhelming; she squirms, trying to find a better position, but his arms are too strong.   
  
“You’ll get there eventually,” he says, pausing, before returning to his ministrations. His eyes meet hers, his pupils wide with arousal as he watches her. He knows when she’s close; when her breathing becomes heavy and she tries to buck against his face, alerting him to the building pressure in her core. His pace quickens now, the sweeps of his tongue no longer meant to tease but to finish her. As she hovers right at the edge he slows, circling his tongue around her clit, avoiding the direct stimulation she needs to fall off the edge, holding her there as the writhes under him. And then his tongue returns to her clit, lapping at it, and as she finds her release, her thighs tighten against his head, holding him in place through her climax.   
  
He sits up and removes his hand from her mouth. The head of his cock is dripping with pre-cum and he wraps her legs around his waist. “Sit up and silence me,” he says, voice rough with need.   
  
“Tap me three times if you need to stop?” She says, repeating his question from earlier.   
  
“Yes,” he says breathlessly. She sits up and clasps a hand over his mouth as he thrusts into her. No longer worried about keep her quiet, he holds her rear, setting a near-punishing pace as he takes her hard. Despite their efforts to stifle their moans, it briefly occurs to her that the sound of their lovemaking must be quite obvious to anyone nearby.   
  
Burying her face into his neck, she sucks a mark just below his neckline, which is enough to bring him over the edge, burying himself to the hilt as he comes inside her. Withdrawing her hand from his mouth, he pants and rests his own face in her neck. “Good?”   
  
“Very,” he says, sounding spent. They lie back down and he wraps an arm around her. “Have a few minutes before I need to get to work.”   
  
“Have morning fucks ever been commonplace for you during other voyages?”   
  
“No, it’s a new thing. Most of my dalliances were of the late night variety. Easier to pretend you have privacy when you and your bed partner are fucking when most people are asleep.” 

“It must be awkward to know people could see.” 

He looks unbothered by it. “You get used to it. General etiquette is one does not look over and people tend to pretend nothing is going on. Give people the illusion of privacy. I’ll get teased eventually but it’s all in good fun.”   
  
Vasco eventually gets up, washes and throws his clothes on. “Thought I could teach you some things later, assuming the seas remain calm. Would you have some time?”   
  
The thought of learning to sail excites her. “I have all the time in the world, Vasco.”   
  
When Vasco opens the door to their quarters, they very quickly learn that their efforts to remain quiet were pointless beyond fueling their own arousal. “Someone’s had a better morning than all of us!” she hears Flavia call out.   
  
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Vasco responds, to the sound of crew members chuckling.   
  
She dresses - may as well go out and embrace her fate. Flavia turns and looks at her. “Have a good morning?”   
  
“A lovely morning, Flavia. I slept very well,” she says, trying to look the picture of innocence.   
  
“Our captain saw to your needs?” Lauro calls out.   
  
“Each and every one of them,” she responds, looking at Vasco who is unable to keep a straight face and bursts out laughing.   
  
“How did you know?” she quietly asks Flavia later that day.   
  
“He’d forgotten to fix his hair.” 

***

She enjoys the lessons. While it’s clear to them both that she will never excel at the work he does, in a pinch she will be able to help out on deck once she’s formally accepted her birthright. 

On quiet days, when they have no lessons planned, she watches. Not in the way she watched during their first voyage together, full of longing and nervous energy. Now it’s to see the genuine satisfaction on his face as he does the work he loves. The way he smiles as he looks out at the open sea. 

Treating patients on a ship that is constantly in motion is an adjustment. Jonas is her first patient - a cut on his arm that needs stitching. 

Unfortunately the sea is a bit rough. While cleaning the cut, a large wave must have hit the ship and she’s sent flying, landing several metres away from where she was originally standing. 

“You well, Lizzie?” Jonas calls out. 

She winces as she tries to stand up. “I’ll be bruised but nothing I can’t heal.” 

“Might want to grab rope to secure yourself. It’s rough today and you’re still coming into your sea legs.” 

Jonas is correct. She’d been convinced after their trip to New Sérène that life at sea was something she was completely adjusted to. But on days when the sea is rough, she frequently loses her balance. 

Making her way to the cabinet, she pulls out a length of rope, ties it around her waist, and ties the other end to a ring screwed into the wall. 

“I don’t remember it being nearly this rough on the voyage over,” she says, continuing to clean his cut. 

“Different time of year. It’s winter now and the water in this part of the world is rough this time of the year. It won’t be as bad on your trip back to the island.” 

Satisfied that his wound has been cleaned properly, she sets aside the cloth and rubs a numbing salve onto his skin. “I’m going to heal the damage underneath your skin and then I will stitch it. If it hurts let me know and I can numb things some more.” 

She concentrates, willing the damaged tissue to heal and Jonas lets out a string of impressive curses as she does so. “Am I hurting you?” She asks as she works. 

“It isn’t too bad. But I’ve never seen anything like this! You’re talented Lizzie.” 

“Thank you.” Another wave hits the ship but she’s ready this time and braces herself, remaining seated in her chair. 

Stitching a wound on a ship that’s rocking near violently is certainly a challenge. “I’ll need to get better at this quickly, I think,” she says lightly as she stitches his wound. 

“Expect to stitch the whole lot of us?” 

“Not this voyage but over the next few years I imagine.” 

Jonas looks up at her and she pauses, setting her forceps and needle down on a nearby tray. “Next few years?” 

“Vasco never mentioned?” 

“Not sure what you’re talking about.” 

“I’ll be coming home. Sooner rather than later I suspect, so long as things are looking good in Sérène.” 

“That’s why he’s teaching you how to sail.” 

She smiles at him. “Yes. Did you think he was simply sharing Naut secrets with me?” 

Jonas shrugs. “He’s the captain and you’re his wife. Known you both long enough to trust that both of you have the crew’s best interests at heart.” He brightens suddenly. “So you’ll be our sister then? Officially?” 

“Officially.” 

“It’ll be exciting to have an actual doctor on board. Don’t tell him I said so, but Gustavo’s stitches were terrible. Always uneven.” 

Gustavo doubled as the ship’s medic on previous voyages. He seemed rather relieved not to have to tend to other members of the crew with her around. 

“Speaking of stitches...” she picks her tools up and gets back to work. “Just two or three more and I’ll bandage you up.” 

“Should check on the captain when you see him next. He always takes a beating in weather like this.” 

She can’t say this is information that surprises her. “Shall I check the rest of the crew too?” 

“Nah. People’ll find you if they need you. Captain has a stubborn streak.”

“I’m shocked to learn this,” she deadpans. 

“Flavia once told me he sprained an ankle and kept working on it for two days. Only reason anyone noticed was Lauro caught a glimpse of it while they were washing up. Gustavo threatened to tie him to the bed.” 

“He must have loved that,” she says, laughing at the image of Vasco tied to a bed. 

“Apparently he did agree to take a day off before returning to the deck on crutches.” 

She cuts the thread, quickly cleans the wound again and bandages it. “You’re good to go. Do your best to keep it dry, change your bandages daily and I’ll remove the stitches in a few days.” 

Jonas stands up. “Thanks Lizzie. If you don’t mind me saying it, Captain Vasco picked a good one.”

His kind words touch her. “Thank you. I’d get all soft and romantic here but I fear I’d shatter his reputation.” 

“We’ve all seen you two together; we know he’s soft. He’s happier than I’ve ever seen him. You’re good for one another and it’s obvious to all of us.” Jonas leaves the infirmary then. 

She’s not alone for long; over the course of the afternoon several other crew members show up. She treats a sprained wrist, countless bruises, and orders Lauro to lie in the infirmary after diagnosing him with a mild concussion.

“I’ve done all I can and you should be recovered within the week but in order to heal properly, you need to rest,” she says firmly as he tries to get up and leave. Her husband isn’t the only stubborn sailor out there, apparently. 

But no Vasco. It’s late before he makes it to bed, waking her up as he crawls in. She casts a ball of light, which floats just above their heads. They both wince at the sudden change in brightness. 

“What’s the matter, Tempest?” 

“The sea was rough today. I need to look you over.” 

“I’m fine. You treated half the crew today; you must be exhausted.” 

He’s not wrong. “I can manage a quick spell to look you over and I have a magic potion in my bag if I find any injuries.” 

“Who put you up to this?” He grumbles, but allows her to look him over. 

“I know you have a stubborn streak, Love. Nobody needed to put me up to it.” Obviously not quite the truth. 

“Bullshit.” 

“Do you think I’d reveal my source?” 

“No but it was worth a shot.” 

He’s not badly injured; some bruising and strained muscles. Probably something she can address without even taking the potion. “Give me a minute; this will hurt a bit.” 

The spell she casts eases the inflammation, and she watches as the bruises start to fade. Her head is spinning a little from the exertion and she lies back down once she cuts off the spell. 

“It could have waited until morning. It wasn’t that bad.” 

“I know. But you’ll be more comfortable and sleep better now.” 

He leans over and gives her a kiss. “Thank you. I’m grateful for your skills even when I’m being an ass about it. You’ve worn yourself out. Take it easy tomorrow - please?” 

“Are things looking like they’ll be calmer tomorrow?” 

“Yes. Not the way it is in the summer but we shouldn’t have crew hurting themselves.” 

With a thought, the ball of light vanishes, leaving them in the dark. “Take it easy as much as you can too.” 

Vasco rolls over and wraps an arm around her, pulling her close. “Will do my best.”


End file.
